


Held in Your Tender Hands

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings in Author’s Note, Alternate Universe - Human, Androgynous Castiel, Awkward Boners, Bisexual Dean, Bobby’s House, Bottom Dean, Caring Castiel, Cas Loves to Watch Dean Sleep, Castiel and Cats, Comfort, Consensual Somnophilia, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cuddly Dean, Dean Works in an Office, Dean in Panties, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2015, Firefighter Dean, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fourth of July, Genderfluid Castiel, Grey Asexual Castiel, Grumpy Castiel, Illustrated, M/M, Massage, Masseur Castiel, Paintball, Professionals Being Unprofessional, Punk Castiel, Romance, Sleepy Cuddles, Summer, Tattooed Castiel, Touch-Starved, Virgin Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 17:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5301230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Human AU. Castiel is Dean’s new masseur. Their relationship is meant to be all business, but somehow their first session ends with a cuddle, and their second session leads Castiel to confess he enjoys watching Dean nap a little too much. Their third... well, their third session is especially intimate. After more than a year apart, Dean and Castiel meet on a train, having been invited to the same Independence Day gathering. Just like before, Castiel goes everywhere with his pet cat. But outside of work, he dresses and acts very differently to the polo-shirted smooth-talker of the massage room. Dean can only guess at how this snarky, tattooed, gender-bending sweetheart can render him such a wreck, all over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How We Met

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Somnophilia/Castiel’s sleep fetish (fully consensual); grey-asexual Cas, tattooed punk!Cas (bonus: Cas rocking some androgynous genderfuckery), Dean in panties, explicit sex with bottom!Dean, fingering using massage oil as lube; past Dean/people of various genders; brief mentions of past suicidal feelings, self-tattooing, and John Winchester’s abusive parenting. Also contains Castiel’s pet disabled/deaf/declawed cat, a somewhat brutal paintball battle in Bobby’s scrapyard, swearing, fireworks... and British spelling.
> 
>  **Acknowledgements:** I can offer nothing but immense gratitude to my betas, who rescued me from my own typos, Britishisms, and bad math a mere two days before this story was due to post. Thank you to [Libby](http://cersei-the-truth-bombardier.tumblr.com/), [Laura](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/), [Kayla](http://themcgeek.tumblr.com/), and [Lucie](http://tumblr.com/), without whom I would’ve floundered. Floundered, I say! Like a pigeon in a post office.  
>  And, of course, many thanks to my lovely artist [Stacy (aka chargetransfer)](http://chargetransfer.tumblr.com/). Click [here](http://chargetransfer.livejournal.com/6056.html) to check out her artwork for this fic!

  


**OCTOBER 2013**

Castiel ran his hand over the nudging head of his cat, Ivor. Ivor purred loudly and insistently, shoving his wet nose into Castiel’s palm. Castiel chuckled. “Come on now,” he said softly, tickling his friend one last time behind his ear. “Go and sit up on your perch – my client will be here in a minute. You can watch from up there.”

Ivor chirruped, blinking his blue eyes, but Castiel resisted those feline charms. “Go on,” he insisted, giving an shooing gesture.

Ivor swished his dark, fringed tail and limped across the windowsill, setting one unsure foot on the perch set into the wall. Castiel observed as his cat climbed from one step to the next, trying hard not to put any weight on the front of his damaged paws.

“There,” Castiel said in relief, as Ivor reached the top perch and immediately sank his body into a tidy rectangle shape, paws tucked under his chest, tail dangling from the polished wood. The long fur of his tail fluttered in the draft from the heater, which blew a hot, rose-scented breeze upward and outward.

Satisfied that Ivor was comfortable and had a good vantage point, Castiel turned away, going to wash his hands. The sink was closest to the door of the therapy room, and Castiel pumped out some foamy soap onto his palm before turning on the faucet. He took a deep, calming breath as he washed under his fingernails. The fruity smell of the soap was mouth-watering.

Drying his hands on the ruby-red towel hanging by the sink, Castiel listened through the wall, hearing the glass doors of the massage parlour opening to let someone in. The person who entered brought with them a few seconds of winter traffic: roaring engines, gently-squeaking brakes, and the rough puff of exhaust as trucks started and stopped along the road outside. Then the front door clapped shut, and the serenity of Soft Touch Massage House once again enveloped Castiel’s ears.

Castiel heard the low voice of a man through the wall, speaking to the receptionist. Assuming that man was to be his new client, Castiel set the towel back tidily on its rail, then turned to the massage table in the centre of the room and began to prepare it for the session.

Castiel’s room was only small – nine by twelve, low-ceilinged – but it was warm and cosy, and the furnishings were comfortably sparse. Aside from the massage table, where clients lay to be pampered, the only other furniture was a rack for clothes, the sink caddy and the shelves above, which housed the little bottles of massage and incense oils. There was also the armchair over by the wall, but that rarely got used. It was built as an overlarge rocking chair: huge, deep, and winged at both sides – anyone could just sink back and lose themselves in its plush cloth covers and cushy padding. But when people came here, they came for treatment, not to sit in a chair.

Every other therapy room in Soft Touch Massage House was painted white, pale green, or lined in bamboo. Castiel had requested his room be painted differently, however: his was red. One might say it was blood-red, but that was only true when viewed in sunset light – which, as it happened, was precisely what streamed through the window over by Ivor’s wall perches. Bamboo blinds had been pulled halfway down, cutting the golden beams into stripes that angled over the walls, washing in flickers over Castiel’s shoulders as he spread a fresh maroon towel over the massage table.

The room was thick with heat – just as Ivor liked it. So long as Ivor was happy, Castiel didn’t mind losing a little sweat.

A confident knock sounded from the door, right on time. Castiel smiled and went to open it, holding it open. “Welcome,” he said to the man who stood outside. “Please, come in.”

The man wore an army-green utility jacket with a plain black t-shirt underneath, and blue jeans with a belt. Castiel immediately sensed a lot of stress in him, from the way he carried himself into the room, and the clothes he wore; his aura looked electric, which was fascinating, but Castiel saw it was a little compressed in the emotional department.

“My name is Castiel, and I’ll be your masseur today,” Castiel said, clicking the door closed. “I understand you’re one of Benny’s old clients?”

“Um. Yeah,” the man said, awkwardly standing to face Castiel. He rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes darting up to Castiel’s, then down again. He frowned. “No offence, but I was expecting someone a lot, uh...” He met Castiel’s eyes. “Older.”

Castiel felt a smile pulling at his lips. “I’m a fully qualified massage therapist, and I’ve had a good fourteen years experience. You’re in safe hands.”

“Safe...” the man repeated the word, eyebrows raised. He chewed his tongue, then paused to look around. “Um, can I ask— Why is this room red? I thought this place made a point of being calming.”

“This shade of red is highly conducive to blood flow,” Castiel said gently, stepping around his client and going to the massage table. He began fluffing up the folded towel at the head of the table, offering a subtle invitation. “Red can also trigger anger in some people, and yes, it does raise blood pressure, but healthy bodies need healthy blood flow...” He smiled at the man, who stood by, staring at Castiel. “May I ask your name?” Castiel prompted, watching the man tentatively peel off his jacket.

“Dean.” The man gripped his jacket in hand and threw it across the room, so it flopped on the armchair. Castiel raised his eyebrows, surprised at his sense of possession. This was clearly a man of a powerful nature.

“Well, Dean,” Castiel smiled, “I’ll leave the room for a few minutes and I’ll let you get undressed. Your robe is here.” He patted the white dressing gown that was slung over the massage table. “We can discuss what you need once you’re comfortable. Can I get you a drink of water?”

“Tap water’s fine,” Dean said, already taking hold of his t-shirt and pulling it over his head.

“I’ll be back with your water shortly, then,” Castiel said, and excused himself from the room, closing the door behind him. The foyer was cold in comparison, but it was somewhat relieving to escape the stuffiness. Castiel went down the hallway, smiling to Rachel and Hannah when he got to the small kitchen. The two women were seated at the staff table, chatting about moving companies as they sipped on tea together.

The blinds were half-drawn here, too, and the sunlight gleamed off the fridge magnets, flashing reflections across the kitchen when Castiel opened up the fridge.

“I’d rather not go with a company,” Rachel said disapprovingly. “I’ve heard too many stories about stolen or damaged property, boxes going missing...”

“Oh, now you sound like Castiel,” Hannah replied, rolling her eyes. “You have to _learn_ to trust people, Rach! How do you expect to get things done if you won’t even accept the teeniest bit of help from someone?”

Castiel took a pitcher of water from the fridge and fetched a tall glass tumbler, pouring a drink for himself. He grabbed another glass for Dean, filling it straight from the faucet.

“Castiel, you tell her,” Hannah said behind him. “Tell her she needs to hire a moving van and some movers, or she’ll end up putting herself in the hospital.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows, watching his drink swirling around his glass. “I don’t see why she needs to hire people. I can help her move if she needs manual labour.”

Though Castiel wasn’t looking, he knew Hannah threw her hands up in exasperation, rolling her eyes the way Castiel often did. He took a sip of cold water, turning around to lean against the counter to see the others. Hannah was still shaking her head, and now she’d pulled out her phone to scroll down a page.

“Here, look.” She showed Rachel the screen. “This company gets plenty of good reviews.”

“If Castiel will help, then I don’t need them, Hannah,” Rachel replied, pushing the phone away. “If he throws his back out, we know you’re on hand to fix it, don’t we?”

Hannah huffed through her nose, pressing her lips together. She looked up at Castiel, and her dark, wavy hair crumpled against her shoulders. “Aren’t you meant to be with a client?”

“He’s undressing,” Castiel replied. But he straightened up, guzzling down the rest of his water in big gulps, then he turned away, leaving the glass in the sink.

“Don’t forget the movie later,” Rachel said, standing up. “Six o’clock, Castiel. _Six_. I want to get there before all the good seats are gone. Hannah, where’s your spare hair tie?” Hannah held up her wrist, and Rachel took it off her to use. With her other hand, she waved at Castiel, who was on his way out.

With Dean’s glass chilling his hand, Castiel carried it back to his room. He waited outside, listening. When he heard silence, he knocked on the door.

“I’m decent,” Dean called.

Castiel entered. Inside Dean was now dressed in nothing but his gown, sitting at the edge of the massage table, where the towel-covered leather padding dipped around him.

“Thanks,” Dean said, taking the water Castiel handed him. He took a sip, then nodded upward to Ivor. “I’m allergic to cats.”

“As am I,” Castiel said. “But Ivor’s a Balinese cat. He’s been bred with fewer of those proteins that you and I react to. So long as you’re not deathly allergic, his presence shouldn’t make any difference to you.”

Dean drew his face back by an inch, apparently bewildered. “Your cat’s gonna sit in on the whole session?”

“Is that a problem?” Castiel watched Dean for any signs of anxiety, but thankfully only saw confusion.

“Nah,” Dean said eventually. He sipped on his water again, eyeing the cat. “Just,” he rested the glass down on his muscular thigh, “Benny never had a cat in his room.”

“Benny never did a lot of things I do,” Castiel said, lifting Dean’s jacket off the armchair and resting it over the back, then sitting himself down at the edge of the cushion. “He and I had very different training, with decades between his graduation and mine. We use different techniques, but I aim to achieve a result I’m hoping you’ll be equally satisfied with.”

Dean nodded, head down. “Okay. I dunno,” he muttered. “I just find it weird. Benny’s been doing my massages for God knows how long. I didn’t even have to tell him what I needed, he just knew.”

“You trusted him,” Castiel said understandingly. “If you’re willing, Dean, you and I can find a way to progress to that level of comfort before today’s session is up. You booked a one-hour appointment, is that correct?”

“Yeah.” Dean screwed his hands around the glass, smearing the condensation. Despite his earlier shows of confidence, he was nervous – that much was obvious.

Castiel leaned forward, attentive eyes on Dean. “Can you explain to me what you’re hoping to achieve today?”

Dean shrugged a shoulder. “Just been feelin’ a little tense recently. Office work, you know. Hunching at computers and wheeling around between filing cabinets. I get to the gym once a week, maybe twice, but that never usually helps me chill out.”

“You just want to relax.”

“I guess.” Dean tipped his glass back and drank half of what was left, swallowing and swallowing. He exhaled, resting the glass back down on his knee.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Castiel said, “undo the robe and lie face-down on the table. We can go head-to-toe, if you like. Does that sound good?”

For the first time Dean looked glad of something. “Yeah,” he smiled. He wriggled the glass in his hand, sloshing the leftover water about. “What do I do with this?”

“I’ll take that.” Castiel set the glass beside the sink in case Dean wanted more later. He kept his back turned while Dean disrobed. “Is the temperature okay in here?”

“What? Oh, yeah. It’s fine.” Dean hesitated, then said, “Can— Can you just do my back today? Maybe, uh, leave my front for some other time...?”

“That’s absolutely something we can do,” Castiel agreed. He was no stranger to people being uncomfortable baring their front. Given Dean’s anxiety, it wasn’t surprising.

Castiel turned around, seeing Dean flat on the table, robe crumpled up to cover his buttocks. Castiel went and straightened it, then moved towards the window, to the end of the table where Dean rested his head. There, he pulled out a stool from under the table. He tugged up his creased white pants from the knee and sat down, getting comfortable.

“Rest your face in the gap in the table, arms by your sides.”

Dean slid his arms out from under his face, stretching them down alongside his naked torso, then stuck his face in the table’s gap, so he now gazed at the dark brown carpet. Castiel noticed his fingers were clenched up, and one thumb rubbed back and forth along the side of his hand.

“Are you nervous?” Castiel asked, despite already knowing the answer.

“I’m fine,” Dean lied. His hands relaxed, though, so Castiel knew Dean was now aware of his own anxiety and was working to control it.

Castiel set his fingers gently on Dean’s skull. The tips of his index fingers pressed at the top of Dean’s spine, while his thumbs rested on the crown of Dean’s head, and his other fingers splayed over the skin behind Dean’s ears, pinkie fingers towards his temples. Already Castiel could sense and see parts of Dean’s spine were micrometers out of alignment, which was totally throwing off a multitude of his bodily functions.

“Have you been getting headaches recently?” Castiel asked, thumbing out the ridge of muscle below Dean’s skull with circular movements, feather-light.

“Yeah, actually,” Dean said, surprise in his voice. “How did you know?”

“Magic,” Castiel joked. “No,” he said after, more seriously, “you’re holding a lot of tension here. See, I barely needed to touch this knot and already you’re letting go.”

Dean sighed, slowly. With his exhaled breath went a grip he’d been holding on himself. Whether he’d been trying not to let his belly fat squash out, or trying not to release a silent fart, the effort was expelled and he finally began to relax.

Castiel smirked. Just like that, Dean had allowed a trust to form between them. People were such simple creatures, really. If someone could figure out how to get a cat to trust them, getting a human to do the same was barely a step up.

Castiel spent a few quiet minutes massaging Dean’s head, running fingers through his short, tufty hair every time he changed the position of his hands. Castiel liked Dean’s smell. It wasn’t the smell of antiperspirant or shampoo – Dean was blank of all that – but he had a very natural, somewhat earthy ‘person’ scent to him.

As Castiel loosened up the clenched muscles around Dean’s skull and neck, he began to see a difference in the glow of Dean’s aura. A bright red glow of vitality spread like a slow-motion firework over his head, settling an otherworldly dust on the backs of Castiel’s hands. Castiel smiled, watching it sparkle. It was only a small change, but it was nonetheless splendid.

“What have you been up to since your last visit here?” Castiel asked, stroking gently between Dean’s shoulders and skull. “Do anything interesting?”

Dean huffed. “Nah.” His voice was muffled by the padding around his cheeks, but Castiel could hear him.

“See any friends?” Castiel asked. He tilted his head, looking at Dean’s aura in what remained of the sunlight through the blinds. He saw a lot of muddy green and blue, but it refused to mix, like oil and water. The colours did not make a healthy, loving turquoise: they made an anxious blur of insecurity and fear.

“Um,” Dean said. “I saw my brother a couple times...”

“Do you and him get along?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean laughed. “Yeah, I practically raised him.”

“So you’re the older one. That must’ve been difficult, raising a sibling.”

“Yeah... I guess.”

Castiel stood up and went across to the sink, searching for a massage oil. “Do you have a favourite oil you liked Benny to use?”

“He always used the standard scentless one,” Dean said.

Castiel’s expression flattened. “No wonder you keep coming back every two weeks.”

“Huh?”

“Aromatherapy is a huge part of the relaxation process,” Castiel explained, pulling out oils one by one, looking at the bottles and wondering which one was best suited to counteract Dean’s tension. “You smell something calming and it helps the massage become more effective. The more effective the treatment is, the less often you need it.”

When Castiel returned to the massage table, Dean was propped up on his elbows, peering at Castiel.

“Why would you want me to come back less often?” Dean asked. “I thought you’re here to make money.”

Castiel sat on his stool and shook his head, unscrewing the caps of three bottles in turn, tipping some into the tiny bowl he had on his lap. “I’m a healer, Dean. If I was going to take your money and not do the best I possibly can to heal you, I’d be as bad as conventional doctors. Pharmaceutical companies’ products have their roles to play in the healing process, but their morals, not so much.”

He took the bowl and swirled it around, watching the oils mix. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you? Other than cats, I mean.”

Dean watched the oil swish about, his lips slightly parted. “Oh... No.”

“Good. This is a mixture with almond oil as a base, and I’ve added chamomile for its calming properties, lavender for its healing properties, and some plain old rose oil, just – well, because it smells nice.”

Dean smiled, and it was a fantastic smile. Shy, but beautiful. His eyes lifted to Castiel’s, and for the first time Castiel properly saw his face through the buzzing haze of his aura.

Castiel almost dropped the bowl. Dean was gorgeous.

As he blinked, Dean’s green eyes vanished and reappeared from behind his eyelids, and he started to frown. “What? What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Castiel said, lowering his head. “I just don’t often see people as beautiful as you. I was startled.”

Dean’s breath seemed to hitch. He made the first wispy shapes of words with his mouth, but didn’t complete a reply.

Castiel smiled when he looked up. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to... uhm...”

Dean licked his lips, shaking his head. “Nah, it’s cool. People don’t usually say shit like that. It’s kinda nice to hear.” He cleared his throat. “Thanks,” he whispered.

“There’s no need to thank me, Dean, I’m only speaking the truth,” Castiel said, taking the back of Dean’s head in his hand and easing him back down to the massage table. “Your aura is equally radiant.”

Dean’s skin felt hot to the touch when Castiel dragged oil between his shoulder blades. He was most likely blushing.

Another few minutes went by in silence; Castiel trickled oil all the way down Dean’s back, spreading it with his hands, mapping out the muscles, finding the ones that needed the most healing energy to be set right. Castiel moved to sit at right Dean’s hip, leaning over him to press into his shoulders, pulling his ache down.

Castiel moved his hands in a rhythm, working it in, over and over, until Dean mirrored the rhythm with his breathing. That helped: Castiel could now shift in pulses, thrusting his hands along either side of Dean’s spine. He found the stiff spots and massaged around them until they slowly melted away, and Dean would sigh every time, like one more demon was exorcised from him.

Describing them as demons wasn’t such a stretch – with every sigh, Dean’s aura brightened. The darkness was leaving him.

“So much of your mental burdens are tied into your physical form,” Castiel said, watching a sparkling golden part of Dean’s aura drift up towards the ceiling light, where it disappeared into the glow. “The more of this I work out, the better you’ll be feeling.”

“Mm,” Dean said.

As the ceiling light was switched on, glowing dimly, it was several more minutes before Castiel realised that most of the light he saw in the room was no longer from the sunset through the blinds, but Dean’s aura. It glowed brighter than nearly any aura Castiel had seen on his table.

“I’m curious,” Castiel said, stroking his thumbs between each of Dean’s ribs, sliding outward, “what kind of person would you describe yourself as?”

“Me?” Dean shifted in position. “Um, I don’t know. Tall. Determined. How do you mean?”

“Tall and determined. What else?” Castiel didn’t want to lead him. The way Dean answered was as fascinating to him as anything else.

Dean swallowed, moving his legs an inch, stretching out his toes. “Uh. I guess I’m hard-working? I mean, I slack off every now and then... Why are you asking?”

“Because I want to know,” Castiel said simply. “How do you spend your time?”

“Work,” Dean breathed. Castiel instantly noticed a cloudy tension jump through his system, but Dean was already moving on, “Reading. Watching movies. Netflix is totally the best thing since satellite TV, by the way—” He broke off to chuckle. “I see my brother a couple times a week, and his friends.”

“What about your own friends?”

Dean paused, and Castiel learned a lot from his silence.

Head bowed, Castiel decided to move on. “What makes you happiest?”

Dean shrugged, inadvertently pushing his shoulder into Castiel’s hand. “Netflix.”

Castiel nodded. “I can understand that. A relaxing evening for me would mean curling up in front of the TV with Ivor there.” He smiled up at his cat, who peered back from on high, blinking slowly.

“It—” Dean started, but hesitated.

“Go on,” Castiel said gently, kneading at Dean’s lower back. Dean grunted, but after another run of Castiel’s hand, he relaxed.

“I like being alone,” Dean said. “But honestly? I find it kinda boring. Watching shows end-to-end on Netflix would suck a lot less if I had someone there with me. Ugh, I sound like Sammy now. Sammy’s my little brother. He goes on and on about meeting people and dating sites, and I end up rolling my eyes and telling him to get lost and come back when he hasn’t come prepared with a printout of friggin’ _matchmaking agencies_ around the goddamn city.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Seems like he’ll go to some length to find you someone.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah.”

“Does that bother you?”

Dean grunted, but not out of pain or discomfort, just agitation. “Yeah,” he said grumpily. “I just wanna be left alone.” He thought about that for a moment, then sighed. “God,” he breathed. “I want someone, I don’t want someone. It’s like I hate everyone but then when I’m alone I hate being alone.”

“Maybe you simply aren’t—”

“Aren’t looking in the right place; haven’t found the right person – yeah, I know,” Dean grouched. “That’s what Sammy says, that’s what his friend Charlie says, that’s what that old coot in the copy shop told me the other week. Everyone and their mother thinks I should be dating. I’m thirty-five, man. Everyone my age – everyone I know – is either married or has kids already. Some people my brother brings around are divorced, remarried _and_ have kids. And I’m still sitting around at home eating popcorn on Friday nights.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Castiel assured him. He squeezed Dean’s shoulders, drawing out a quiet squawk of pain. “I’m thirty-seven and I’ve never dated.”

“Seriously?”

“I am being serious. Just because it’s usual practice to find someone, doesn’t mean it’s right for everyone.”

Dean thought about that for a bit. Then he harrumphed. “I think I’m just stubborn.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Dean winced when Castiel teased at a muscular knot, but the knot came undone and Dean relaxed again. “I want what Sam’s trying to offer me, you know? But I say no ‘cause I don’t wanna give anyone else the satisfaction of setting me up with someone I actually like. I’ve been to a half-dozen weddings in the last couple years, and I’m like, I want that. But beyond the sex, these girls don’t want anything to do with me, so hey, there’s no love lost there. I’d go out and try again with someone else, but nearly all the women my age are either married or not interested in something long-term.”

Castiel squinted, trying to find Dean’s point in the midst of all his worries. “Clearly,” he said, “this is weighing on you, this topic.”

“Chh,” Dean tutted. “I’m gonna be a dried up old prune before I find someone. I hold back for so long and then I find someone I’m into and I kinda... fling myself at them. Sexually. Emotionally. And they freak out because they can’t deal with my emotional baggage.”

Castiel smiled. “At least that way you can determine they’re not the right person.”

“Well. I guess.”

“I’m going to move to your buttocks now,” Castiel said. “Is that all right?”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled.

Castiel got up and took his stool, putting it beside the massage table, aligned with Dean’s rear. He sat and reached across, pulling down the robe. Dean had plump, round buttocks, dotted with the same freckles that adorned his back.

Castiel put a little more oil in his hands, then – this part always amused him – he set each hand on Dean’s ass, pressing down.

Dean kicked his feet and yelped, feeling the push. “Owowow, hurts, _hurts_!”

“Sorry,” Castiel chuckled, easing up on the pressure. “You’ve been doing too much sitting and not enough standing.”

“I know,” Dean muttered, moving his hands up to tuck under his chin, so his face was no longer dipped into the massage table. “Nine hours a day, five days a week, working at a desk, then I get up and go out for lunch, come back... It’s no life. Like, if they didn’t pay me ninety dollars an hour to draw up electrical blueprints, would I bother? Not a friggin’ chance.”

Castiel breathed out a laugh. “At least you make more than I do for the same hours.”

Dean grinned, scratching at his forehead. “Your job’s probably a heck of a lot more fun than mine, though.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Castiel smiled. He dragged his thumbs down Dean’s ass cheeks, watching the pudgy skin dent around him. He then moved his hands to Dean’s hips, standing up and setting one knee on the edge of the mattress, craning over Dean to get both sides.

Dean gasped as Castiel worked at his hip muscles, fingers grinding into the soft flesh, drawing out an internal anger Dean hadn’t realised was building up there. Dean whined and gasped and punched the massage table, knees dragging the towel under him, but then it was over, and Castiel patted his ass as Dean flopped back down.

“Better,” Castiel said, draping the robe back over Dean’s reddened cheeks. “Sorry I had to do that.”

“It’s fine,” Dean panted. “Feels all right now. Hurts. But it’s okay.”

Castiel reached up and took Dean’s shoulders, guiding his arms back to his sides. From there, he began to massage his biceps, making him laugh when he got close to his underarms.

Dean groaned when Castiel got to his hands. “Oh,” Dean moaned, sinking into the table, face down. “Oh, holy crap...”

Castiel grinned, spinning his thumbs in circles against Dean’s right hand. “How is that?”

“So good,” Dean shuddered. “Benny never did my hands...”

“Your hands are strong,” Castiel said. “At the moment you’re lacking muscle tone – typing at a computer or drawing up blueprints... obviously that wouldn’t result in muscular hands. But your bone structure, and the way your calluses would form... your hands would be better suited to physical labour, I think. Something active, where your brain becomes a tool for your hands, not the other way around.”

Dean lifted his head, looking back over his shoulder at Castiel. “What d’you mean?”

“Take – uhm – construction work, for instance. It largely requires moving things around, putting items like bricks or wood where they’re supposed to be. Creating something. But your hands are doing most of the work, you brain is just what directs you. You have to be smart about it. Whereas your current job...”

“I design computer chips,” Dean said. “I don’t test them or process them, I just design them. Over and over and over, according to someone’s specifications, until that person calls me up and says I did something right. Drives me crazy sometimes. I can deal with the monotony and I can deal with the chips, it’s just dealing with _people_ I can’t stand. They want stuff that hasn’t been invented yet, and they never believe I don’t have the resources to get it done.”

Castiel nodded understandingly, getting up and carrying his stool to the other side of the table. Dean’s head followed him, and he was still staring when Castiel sat down and took his left hand to massage.

“Your current job,” Castiel went on, “comes brain-first. Your hands just follow orders.”

Dean adjusted his weight on his elbow, angling himself closer to Castiel. “So... wait, you’re telling me I should do a job that uses less brain?”

Castiel grinned. “Not at all. I’m saying that both your mental and physical talents are utterly wasted on a job that limits your creative ability to producing what someone else wants.”

“That’s not what you said,” Dean accused. “You just backtracked ‘cause you accidentally called me stupid.”

Castiel smiled at Dean’s hand, squeezing on the tips of his fingers. “I’m not sure what I said,” he admitted. “I try very hard to act like an all-knowing guru, but really I’m just an opinionated snob who doesn’t like when people sit in offices. It’s like putting people in cages for hours. The idea that the human race has evolved for millennia just so people can type numbers into a spreadsheet for most of their lives is so hugely _flawed_ , I don’t even know where to start.”

“I think you said it all,” Dean smiled. “Rat race. But rats have a better time of it, because they get cheese.”

Castiel chuckled, “Ninety dollars an hour isn’t enough cheese for you?”

“Hey, come on, I didn’t say I don’t appreciate where I am,” Dean muttered. “Being grateful I can earn that kind of money is one thing, but I can’t pretend to enjoy my job. I do what I gotta do, you know? Bills to pay. More than ten years on and my college debt is still pending.” He paused, then smirked. “But seriously, when it comes to cheese, I’m a big fan of putting extra mozzarella on a pizza.”

Castiel cackled, feeling his eyes crinkle up. Now Dean’s aura was bright as a fire – and like fire, it was catching. Since the beginning of the session Dean’s energy had turned from a sludgy, sad colour to one filled with great verve. A bright springtime green emerged from his heart, red from his stomach to his groin, and a soft, soft blue drifted up to his head. Castiel knew his massages could improve someone’s wellbeing exponentially, but he couldn’t help but wonder...

“Dean,” Castiel asked with a smile, holding Dean’s hand still. “When was the last time you talked to somebody?”

Dean smiled back, shrugging. “Talked to my neighbour this morning. He told me my trash got ripped by racoons and would I please go and clean it up before the trash guys come by.”

“No, I mean _really_ talked. Sat down, shared a meal—”

“I told you, I’m not dating.”

“Not a date.” Castiel’s smile faded slightly, and he leaned closer, resting his elbows on his knees as he gazed ahead at Dean. “Your muscles were stiff, but that was only half of what I fixed. I’ve never seen an aura as dark as yours clear up so quickly. You’re an extrovert, Dean. You need human contact, you need people around you. I’m just worried that as soon as you leave you’re going to sneak back into your shut-off world and ignore the things your soul is urging you to do.”

Dean looked down, mouth slowly closing so he could lick his lips. He seemed guilty.

“Promise me, Dean,” Castiel said. “Promise me you’ll go and find a friend who wants some company, and just enjoy being with them for a while. Your brother Sammy. Any of his friends. Go and find someone new, even. I hear dating sites are decent places to find friends...?”

“Yeah, if you want your apartment looted,” Dean scoffed. But his disdain was not without admittance: he nodded right after, lips pressed together. “All right. I’ll, uh... call someone over. Share a beer or something.”

“Good,” Castiel said. He reached and touched Dean’s shoulder; a warm, oily hand on warm skin. “I’m going to massage your legs now, so lie down again.”

Dean got comfortable, and Castiel went to move his stool towards Dean’s knees.

This was the easy part, Castiel thought. Dean was already satisfied emotionally, and now he could just lie there and relax while Castiel slid his hands up and down Dean’s thick, muscular thighs. He had robust thighs, built firm, like his hips and his back. He was all-round an attractive fellow, and Castiel felt honoured to have brought him some peace.

Castiel was halfway through loosening Dean’s tense calf muscles when he heard Dean snore.

Castiel’s body flooded with a strange heat. First of all he wondered if Dean’s fiery aura had somehow infiltrated him like a ghost, but no, that was not the case.

He heard Dean snore again, and that heat rushed through him once more.

He quickly realised what the feeling was. It was arousal.

“Damn it,” Castiel sighed, slumping in his seat. He shook his head, determined to carry on until Dean’s feet were tingling with delight.

But one more snore...

Castiel squirmed in discomfort, hating that he felt that foreign pulse between his legs. He gritted his teeth, gnawing at his own jaw as he circled his thumbs against Dean’s calf, moving down, down to his ankles. Such beautiful ankles.

Castiel spent five minutes massaging Dean’s feet. He shut his eyes for the most part, hoping that if he couldn’t see Dean asleep, the sight couldn’t tease him. Alas, Dean snored, and he snored, and he snored. The sound alone was enough to make Castiel want to kneel next to his face, blocking out the world just to observe him as he napped.

Of course, he didn’t do anything of the sort. He carried on massaging Dean’s heels and toes, like any professional ought to.

Dean snuffled a few times. On each occasion, Castiel smiled and peeked open his eyes, unable to resist. He smiled wider when he saw Dean’s lips twitch, or his eyelids flutter, or his eyes shift behind closed lids. Those little details were Castiel’s favourite to see.

Dean had lost himself to Castiel’s touches. He was completely vulnerable now.

Castiel hated that the knowledge made him hard. He just wanted the tight, achy feeling to stop. As the minutes wore on, and Dean’s feet became supple under Castiel’s thumbs, Castiel’s groin actually started to hurt. He ignored the pain, instead focusing on his breaths. In.... out. In... out. He synchronised his breaths with Dean’s snores.

Dean murmured in his sleep, his foot spasming. Castiel stroked it calm, running the heel of his hand against the arch of Dean’s foot. At once, Dean snorted awake, tickled by the touch. Castiel breathed a sigh of relief, looking down to check his arousal wasn’t visible. No. Good.

_Freak,_ he heard in his head. He muffled his own internal voice and put on a smile, looking up to see Dean staring back.

“Did I just doze off?” Dean asked, rough-voiced.

“Don’t worry about it,” Castiel said placatingly. “It happens five times a day in here. Someone falls asleep and I know I’ve done a decent job.”

Dean laughed softly. “It’s not that, it doesn’t bother me,” he said. “It’s just, after years of coming here, every two weeks, give or take... I never fell asleep before.”

Castiel gave Dean’s feet one last squeeze. “Perhaps you were tired today.”

“That’s the thing, I wasn’t.” Dean seemed so full of wonder. His eyes tracked Castiel’s movement as he carried the stool back to its place under the head of the table, and then followed him again as Castiel went to the sink to wash his hands. “Must’ve been the heat in here. Or the oils. Smelled amazing. _Still_ smells amazing.”

“Yes, I’m sure it was the oils.” Castiel nodded, watching his hands scrub up a soapy lather. “You’ll sleep well tonight, I think.”

“Awesome.”

When Castiel turned around, drying his hands, he saw Dean had flipped over to lie on his back, one knee propped up, hands behind his head. He looked genuinely confident, and Castiel was pleased to see it.

“There’s still a few minutes until your appointment is up,” Castiel said, glancing at the clock, then back to Dean. “I won’t charge you for the full hour.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean grinned. “Whatever you did, it was worth the eighty dollars.”

Castiel folded up the hand towel and hung it over the rail. “I’ll wait outside for you to get dressed.”

“‘Kay,” Dean said, sitting up. He was smiling to himself. A pleasure burned inside his aura, bright and youthful. Castel was so glad to see him glow that way.

Castiel waited outside his massage room, one hand on the door handle. He watched cars go by outside in the dark, headlights gleaming on the black, slightly icy tar.

The receptionist, Becky Rosen, peered across the carpeted foyer in interest, leaning out from behind her computer screen. “How did the appointment go?” she asked.

“Very well,” Castiel answered. “I don’t think he resents Benny’s retirement any more. But that’s more for him to say.”

“Benny was pretty much born in the eighteen-hundreds, it was about time he retired,” Becky uttered, rolling her eyes. “Dean requested a replacement masseuse with experience – I think he was a bit disappointed when I put him with you.”

“You could’ve put him with Rachel, she’s been doing this for ten years longer than I have,” Castiel said in confusion.

“Yeah,” Becky said, “but Rachel’s not single and hot.”

Castiel flushed. “Becky!” he complained. “I told you—” He took a gulp of air, struggling to turn it into words. “I’m not here as your plaything. I’m not here to be set up and put down by every man and woman you send my way. I’m not doing that! And I don’t want to argue with you about it again!”

He was about to slam his way back into his room, but paused to collect himself, remembering that he needed to knock. The pause lent him another retort, and he spun around to glare across the room to the woman behind the front desk. “And Rachel is a beautiful person! The fact you not only can’t see that, but would say such a thing out loud is _exactly_ why you’re a receptionist and not a masseuse! Everyone is beautiful. _Everyone_.”

With that, he turned and rapped hard on the door.

“Come in?” Dean called. He sounded curious.

Castiel came in, trying his best to shake off the coat of fury he’d so hastily donned. He let out a slow breath, slumping back against the closed door.

“I heard all that,” Dean said. He was perched at the foot of the massage table, hands resting on the towel behind him, legs stretched out to the carpet. He was just pulling on his shirt the rest of the way, and he wasn’t wearing his boots.

Castiel swallowed, forcing a smile. “Apparently you’re not the only one who has been ushered into relationships you’re not comfortable maintaining,” he said quietly.

Dean gave Castiel a reassuring smirk. “You ‘n me together make this a club. We should get t-shirts.”

Castiel scoffed under his breath, tugging at the collar of his white polo shirt as he wandered further into the room. “Perhaps we ought to make those t-shirts suits of armour,” he said. “Under all that, nobody would look twice at us for physical attraction.”

“Yeah. What _is_ it about attractive people and finding mates?” Dean uttered. “It’s not like there aren’t a hundred thousand other hot people out there, eager to add something to the gene pool.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Did you just call me attractive?”

Dean raised his eyebrows too. “Are you surprised?”

“Um.” Castiel smiled lopsidedly. “I’m just... I’m very used to telling people they look stunning. I haven’t heard it said back in a long time.”

Dean pushed his lips together. “Well, buddy, it’s a point of fact: if you were the centerfold, you’d sell out.”

Castiel chuckled. He knew right away that this went beyond a friendly compliment: he saw the sparkle of attraction in Dean’s eyes, and all Castiel could think was _Oh, crap_.

Castiel cleared his throat. “I think your hour is up, now.”

Dean exhaled, shoulders sinking a nigh-imperceptible amount. “Cas... Your name is Cas, right?”

“Castiel,” Castiel replied. “But Cas is fine.”

Dean held his eye. “You know that thing... when you sleep with someone, and it’s amazing, and you talk all night and you just... let _go_ when you’re with them...”

Castiel went over to the window, eyes down as he closed the blinds. “No, I can’t say I do.”

Dean paused, turning at the waist to look back at Castiel. “Wait, that never happened to you? But you’re _hot_ , why _wouldn’t_ someone wanna bang you?”

Castiel stalled on his reply. Instead he went to Ivor’s perch, reaching up to tickle the cat’s head. Ivor meowed, and Castiel meowed back. He then lowered his hand, eyes on Dean again. “I told you I never dated,” Castiel said at last, “but I’ve also never been... sexually intimate with someone.” He shrugged. “By choice. Not because of anything else.”

He hoped Dean couldn’t spot a lie when he heard one.

Dean’s expression showed a mixture of sympathy, interest and surprise, but the meaning of Castiel’s words soon sank in, and Dean then merely looked fascinated.

“But,” Dean said, “you can sort of guess what it would feel like, right? To be intimate? Emotionally, at least.”

“Yes,” Castiel nodded.

Dean turned back around, facing the door again. Castiel saw his throat tighten, and when Castiel approached, he saw Dean was stroking his hands with his thumbs.

“Dean...”

“I, uh...” Dean swallowed. “I opened up a lot to you today. Benny—” Dean shut his eyes, eyebrows up. “Benny was never chatty. He got the job done and we got along, but it wasn’t like this. I wanna get up and put my boots on and get the hell out of here, but I’m sorta...” He trailed off, eyes fluttering open, his gaze drifting up to meet Castiel’s. “I think I need a hug or somethin’, I dunno.” He laughed the laugh of a man hopelessly insecure, head down, a frown between his eyebrows.

“Come here, then,” Castiel smiled. He opened his arms, beckoning with a hand. “Hugs come free of charge.”

Dean grinned, and he got to his feet, shyly making up the distance between the massage table and Castiel’s arms. Castiel stepped in and wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders, sighing when Dean wrapped his own arms around Castiel’s waist.

Dean sank into him. He was as vulnerable as he’d been when he fell asleep. God, Castiel was a sucker for moments like these.

Their embrace went on for a good ten seconds, and Castiel dared not be the one to pull away first. It wasn’t his hug, it was Dean’s. When Dean was ready, he’d pull away.

But he didn’t. He clung to Castiel, face buried against his shoulder. Standing. Squeezing.

“Dean?” Castiel touched the back of Dean’s head, scrunching up a handful of hair. “Dean, are you okay?”

Dean trembled. “Y-Yeah,” he said bravely, but both of them heard the lie. “I-I’m just...”

“Let’s get to the chair,” Castiel said. “Come on. We can sit down.”

Dean let go for a moment and Castiel took his hand, leading him to the armchair. He sat first, and his weight made the body of the chair rock on its frame.

Castiel held out his arms for Dean, and Dean – horribly embarrassed, of course – sat down beside him, and allowed Castiel to scoop him close and squish him tight.

“Do you know,” Castiel said softly, “that if cats aren’t touched when they’re craving touch – if they’re not petted, stroked, or licked by other cats – they can die? They die of sadness.”

“Hm,” Dean said. He snuggled closer, trying his best to hide his shamed face from Castiel’s view.

“I’m not sure if it’s true,” Castiel admitted. “I heard it when I was young, and the idea stuck with me. But it is true of people, I’m absolutely certain,” he said. He turned his head, looking at Dean’s screwed-up face and hands which clenched into Castiel’s polo shirt. “I became a masseur so I could help people through touch. But massage is only one way to do that. Any positive touch can heal. This is what I’m here for, Dean. Don’t be embarrassed for needing this. You’re only human.” He brought Dean close to his heart, and rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder. “You’re only human.”

Castiel felt Dean’s fingers slowly creep to the back of his neck, and there they clutched tight, seeking stability. Castiel felt Dean’s aura merging with his own; their energies collided, and all in a rush, Castiel felt the sting of Dean’s empty feelings, his loneliness, his longing – and Castiel poured forth his love and his compassion, trying to fill that dark gap in Dean’s soul with a bright and cheerful light.

Dean’s toes shuffled across the carpet, socks bunching up. Castiel smiled as he felt Dean’s toes nudging his bare feet. He stroked back Dean’s hair, and rested his forehead down against Dean’s neck. Oh, Dean was warm. Warm like Christmas.

The colour of the room had performed its magic: Dean’s blood was ignited with positive energy now, and it flowed to every part of his skin as easily as it was meant to. Tips of his fingers, tips of his toes. Castiel was sure he could even hear his heartbeat.

After what had to be three, perhaps four minutes, Dean swallowed and sat up. Castiel saw the redness around his eyes but said nothing, knowing some men didn’t like to admit they wept. Dean swiped at his cheeks and sat forward, making the heavy armchair rock forward a bit.

“Ah,” Dean sighed, a thick breath bursting from his mouth. “Sorry.”

“No,” Castiel said, reaching across to take Dean’s hand. “It was an honour. You’re shining like a star now. I love knowing I helped that come to be.”

Dean gave a flattered smile, though it wobbled. He gulped, eyes rising in blinks to the ceiling.

“How do you feel?” Castiel asked, giving Dean’s hand another squeeze.

Dean nodded. “...Kind of amazing?” A grin of surprise burst out of him. “Freakin’ awesome, actually.”

“Well worth that eighty dollars,” Castiel nodded. “Excellent.” He stood up, stretching his arms back. He then fetched Dean’s jacket from the back of the armchair and handed it to Dean. Unable to help himself, he touched Dean’s cheek in an affectionate gesture. Dean grinned, blushing again.

“I’ll see you in a month, perhaps more,” Castiel said. “Remember what you promised me.”

“See friends more often, got it,” Dean said. He put his jacket on as he stood up. The armchair rocked back into place, once again looking as lumpy and overlarge without a person in it to make it look full.

Dean put on his boots without doing up the laces, and he went over to the door. Castiel hung back, rolling up the used towels with the robe Dean had worn.

“See ya, Cas,” Dean said.

Castiel looked up, smiling. “Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean smiled once more. He took a deep, cleansing breath of hot scented air, then he turned to leave.

Castiel let out a breath once he was gone. Selfishly, he thought to himself that he’d rather like it if Dean had a bit of an ache in a week, maybe two. Perhaps he might come back sooner.

· · · ♥ · · ·


	2. The Secrets We Shared

****NOVEMBER 2013** **

Dean came back eighteen days later. Castiel laid out fresh towels and put more rose oil above the heater, and he spent a minute tidying up the woollen shawls on the armchair – and only then did he recognise his own excitement. He felt some affection for Dean, but whether that was due to Dean’s personality, his inner and outer beauty, or the intimate interaction they’d shared a couple of weeks ago, Castiel couldn’t say. It seemed likely it was all three.

This time, as soon as Dean stepped into Castiel’s therapy room, they both smiled.

“Hey,” Dean said, taking off his jacket. “How’s life treatin’ you?”

“Good,” Castiel replied. He ran a hand back through his hair when Dean wasn’t looking, busy hanging his snow-wet jacket on the hook on the back of the door. “You?”

Dean shrugged, mumbling, “All right, I guess,” but he was being humble.

“You’re glowing,” Castiel advised him, subtly pointing out Dean’s understatement.

Dean ducked his head and grinned, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I did what you said. Went and made some friends. I got talkin’ with some of Sammy’s buddies – and you know Charlie? I mentioned her last time.”

“I vaguely recall the name.”

“Turns out she’s _awesome_.” Dean’s eyes shone, and he smiled around his words. “Way more awesome than I thought she was before. She totally gets what I’m talking about when I go on about computer chips, and customers. She’s crazy about this live-action roleplayer thing, called Moondoor? She invited me to that, and we dressed up and everything— Went full-out geek. I felt like I was running around inside _Game of Thrones_.”

Castiel beamed, drawn into Dean’s recollection by the bright lights that sparkled around him, a whole rainbow of colours from different parts of his body. Auras like that were rare for Castiel to see – which was why he had to ask: “If everything’s going so well, why did you make an appointment today? My schedule informs me you booked two hours today. Did you sprain something?”

“No, uh...” Dean grinned awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “I have a... kind of a weird request. Like, it was great, what we did here last time. Massage, and talking? And—” He let out a little huff of embarrassment. “I think it was the hug at the end that did it. God, I sound like a Care Bear right now. But honestly— I just, kinda... want some more of that.”

Castiel’s squint blurred away and was overtaken by a smile. “You want to hug for two hours?”

Dean pursed his lips. “Well. Maybe not the _whole_ two hours.”

Castiel felt his own soul lighting up. “Dean, I don’t know what to say...”

Dean’s smile slipped. “It’s not too weird, is it? We can just do the massage if that’s all you’re allowed to do.”

“There’s no rules forbidding hugs,” Castiel smiled. “How about a massage for the first hour, and—”

“Reserve the second hour for – whatever,” Dean nodded. He was pink on the cheeks, but Castiel could see he was eager, pushing down his shame.

“I’ll be outside; get undressed and when I come back, we’ll start.”

Castiel left Dean alone with Ivor, and he went to wait in the hallway. He smiled to himself, looking forward to the rest of his day. He’d be with Dean until it was time to go home, which basically guaranteed he’d go home with a smile. If this appointment went anything like the previous one, even the rain and the slushy snow on the ground outside wouldn’t be able to get Castiel down.

When he knocked, Dean called him in and Castiel entered. Dean wasn’t lying on the massage table, but stood near the window, stroking Ivor’s head. Ivor was purring up a storm, rolling his face against Dean’s wrist and dragging his black lips against Dean’s skin.

“I see you’ve come to an understanding,” Castiel smiled, closing the door and padding over to Ivor and Dean. “Ivor _loves_ attention. You’ve just put yourself in his good books.”

Ivor’s brown face rubbed back and forth over Dean’s hand, his eyes closed in delight. His ears, face, paws and tail were the darkest parts of him, but the rest of him was a sleek and creamy white.

“Why doesn’t he stand up?” Dean asked, running his hand down Ivor’s back. “Does he just sit here, all day, every day?”

“I transport him in a carrier basket between my apartment and here every morning and evening,” Castiel said. “His breed is usually an active one, and Ivor’s a very curious, inquisitive creature, but... ah. I got him from a shelter. Unfortunately, his previous owner decided to get him declawed.”

Dean made a kissy noise with his lips, tickling Ivor under the chin, but he didn’t seem to understand the horrific truth behind what Castiel said.

“The procedure for declawing a cat requires the removal of an entire part of the paw,” Castiel explained, which drew Dean’s attention. “Essentially Ivor’s fingers and toes have been removed.”

Dean’s eyes widened, and his lips parted in a small gape of disgust. “Why do people do that?” He turned to Ivor with a sympathetic look in his eyes, and he rubbed under Ivor’s chin with more vigor than before. “Sorry, pal. That had to hurt.”

“Ivor now refuses to walk if he can help it,” Castiel said, reaching to pet his cat, his hand joining Dean’s on Ivor’s back. “In order for me to keep him entertained, and prevent him from going mad from boredom, I take him everywhere I go and let him watch what I’m doing. Massages aren’t always the most interesting activity for an observer, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Days when my clients come up and say hello are his favourite days.”

Dean grinned, giving Ivor a gentle noogie. “Cute li’l guy.” Dean seemed satisfied, as anyone ought to be after petting a cat. “I gotta ask, though... has he got a hearing problem?”

Castiel raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Why do you ask?”

“He doesn’t respond to noise,” Dean said. “Like, I’ve seen cats before, their ears twitch all the time. A giant truck went past while you were out, the window rattled and _my_ ears were left ringing, but Ivor just sat there. And look.” Dean reached behind Ivor’s head and snapped his fingers. Ivor gazed at him, but gave no reaction.

“I dunno,” Dean said, scratching Ivor’s forehead, then rubbing his velvet nose with a finger. “Obviously I’m no expert. Maybe you oughta let a vet look at him.”

Castiel grinned, shaking his head as he dropped his gaze to the carpet. “Ivor’s deaf,” he said. “I’ve known since I got him.” He looked back up, smiling at his cat, then at Dean, who stared back in astonishment. “Do you know, none of my clients have ever figured it out before?”

“Really?” Dean huffed, eyebrows touching his floppy brown hair.

“I’ve seen women cluck and coo for a whole hour, trying to get his attention, and they conclude Ivor is simply uninterested, as a lot of cats are in their experience. Those with loud or deep voices have commented they’ve never met a cat who didn’t hide at the sound of their arrival. It’s honestly quite amusing to listen to the things they say to poor Ivor.”

Dean’s slightly inward-turned teeth showed in a half-grin. “And you never thought to put these people outta their misery, just told them straight-up that Ivor can’t hear shit?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Castiel said, frowning playfully as he turned away.

Dean laughed, and Castiel couldn’t help but look back, wanting to see Dean interact with Ivor now he knew the cat couldn’t hear a thing.

Dean’s hand slid down and went to the pocket of the robe he wore, and he let out a breath. “Amazing. So, you went to the shelter, you found out this cat would need constant care, and you still decided to get him?”

“Of course,” Castiel said, returning to Dean’s side without even thinking about it. “It took me a few days to figure out the logistics – and get permission to install these platforms—” Castiel touched the wooden steps that protruded from the wall, “but yes.”

Castiel then shook his head. “I make it sound like it was a random act of kindness, though. The truth is, I’d been looking for a cat like him for a while. I’d been to three different shelters, week after week, having to turn down so many sad faces, knowing if they weren’t adopted, they’d be euthanised...” Castiel frowned, eyes lowering to the heater. “I needed a cat I wasn’t allergic to, who wouldn’t mind sitting in one place, being used as a therapy device. Ivor was perfect for me. That’s all there is to it. The frequency of a cat’s purr has been scientifically proven to have healing properties. Lowers blood pressure, calms people down.”

“So a happy Ivor counteracts the red walls,” Dean smirked.

“I suppose he does.”

Dean’s eyes were all crinkled up at the sides. Ivor was still purring, eyes closed. He and Dean both looked equally happy, and Castiel didn’t particularly want to disturb their peaceful moment.

Soon enough, though, Dean blinked away from the cat, and his eyes went to Castiel’s. “So are we doin’ this massage, or what?” he asked.

Castiel chuckled, gesturing opening to the massage table. “Lie down, and we’ll begin. Can I get you a drink?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Dean didn’t wait for Castiel to turn around before he took off his robe and knelt on the table. Castiel averted his eyes the moment he saw the whip of towel fabric, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid seeing the dark skin between Dean’s legs and the gentle bob of his penis as he moved to lie down.

Castiel faced the wall for a few more seconds, trying to urge down the heat in his face. He’d inadvertently seen thousands of genitals in his time working here, but Dean’s genitals were somehow different, because they belonged to Dean. Castiel gritted his teeth and raised his eyes to the white ceiling, reluctantly forcing himself to put a name to these feelings.

Castiel had a crush. A highly unwanted, thoroughly inappropriate crush.

“Cas? I’m lying down now.”

Castiel turned around, nodding. “Mm-hm.” He cleared his throat and went to the head of the table, hoping dearly that Dean wasn’t looking at the crotch of his white trousers.

Dean rested the weight of his upper torso on his elbows, forearms crossed over each other. He watched Castiel curiously as he pulled out the stool and sat down, thighs apart.

“Is it too hot in here?” Dean asked. “You look like... Well, your face is red.”

Castiel quickly patted his cheeks, feeling their heat. “I’m fine. It’ll pass.” He took Dean around the back of the head and guided him down; Dean allowed his face to be set into the gap on the table, and his arms stretched long by his sides.

“I’ll start at your head and move down your back, like last time,” Castiel said. “Anything you want me to do different this time?”

“Nuh-uh,” Dean mumbled through the table. “Last time was perfect.”

_Perfect_. Such a loaded word.

Yet, perfection was what Castiel saw in Dean, too. He was sure Dean had flaws, but as of yet, Castiel didn’t see them.

Castiel didn’t trust himself to talk to Dean any more. Any words between them would make Castiel pulse with affection and therefore more likely to do something regrettable.

Dean noticed his silence, however. Castiel was massaging halfway down Dean’s back when Dean muttered, “You’re quiet today.”

“Is there something you’d like to discuss?” Castiel asked.

“No...” Dean paused, then took a breath. “Maybe. How about, uh... Heh. What kind of person would you describe yourself as?”

Castiel gave a quiet laugh, shoving his weight slowly up Dean’s back, the heels of his hands sliding through fragrant oil. “Tall. Determined.”

Dean laughed, and his laugh shook the table, throwing Castiel’s massage pressure off for a second. “What else?” Dean asked through a grin. “Say you’re strong.”

“Strong?”

“You push like a heavyweight champion,” Dean said. “Except you’re built like a runner, or a swimmer or something.”

“I play badminton on the weekends,” Castiel volunteered, wondering if that counted.

“What’s batmington?”

Castiel chuckled. “Bad-min-ton,” he corrected. “It’s like tennis, but played with a shuttlecock instead of a ball. And before you laugh – quiet, Dean, stop that – a shuttlecock is a feather-ended bullet-shaped... thing, quite light. And badminton rackets are longer than tennis rackets.”

“So that’s your hobby? Shuttling cocks?”

“And I carry Ivor around a lot. He’s quite heavy.”

“You weight-train or anything?”

Castiel smirked. “Why, Dean, are you asking me if I work out?”

Dean’s breath moved into a half-amused huff. “What if I am? A guy can’t ask another guy how he gets to be built like a brick shithouse?”

Castiel tried his best not to let his hands falter on Dean’s lower back, but he was sure Dean felt the twitch of surprise in his fingers. Castiel swallowed, failing to block out the tingly tightness that made him want to reply in the most flirtatious way possible. “I... I’m flattered, but...”

There was a silence.

“But...?”

“But,” Castiel said, “I’m really not interested in seeing anybody.”

Dean swallowed. “You skipped ahead. I didn’t get to ask you out yet.”

“Would you have asked?”

Dean shrugged under the weight of Castiel’s hands.

They were quiet again.

Castiel took a deep breath, rocking his hands against Dean’s lower back, making his way closer and closer to Dean’s buttocks. “I’d say,” Castiel uttered, backtracking to Dean’s original question, “that I’m a reclusive person. I wouldn’t say I’m an introvert – being with other people recharges me, refreshes me mentally and emotionally – but I prefer to deal with one person at a time, which is somewhat contradictory to extroversion. I’ve heard the word ‘ambivert’ and I find that suits me. The close relationships I have with my family and friends are few but... intense.”

“You got siblings?”

“Sisters,” Castiel smiled. “Rachel and Hannah.”

Dean lifted his head from the table, peering back at Castiel. “Wait, aren’t they the two masseuses here?”

“They are indeed.” Castiel slid his hands under Dean’s robe, working his fingers in sideways stippling motions to ease out a stiffness either side of Dean’s tailbone. “Soft Touch Massage House is and always has been a family business.”

“So... Benny...?”

“Our uncle.”

Dean let out a breath. “Shit. Your uncle’s seen my dick.”

“I’ve seen your dick too,” Castiel reasoned. “It’s not much to write home about.”

“Hey!” Dean barked, rolling halfway over to whack Castiel on the arm. He was grinning though, as was Castiel.

Castiel chuckled, rubbing at the now-stinging patch on his bicep. “What I mean to say is, I don’t think Benny cared about your genitals. We see so many floppy bits, spotty bits and saggy bits while working here, it’s all we know. There’s nobody who comes in here without a flaw. But at the same time, what a client views as flaws, we just see as normal. Beautiful, even. Hair and fat and asymmetry are what make us _us_.”

Dean had a soft look in his eyes. Castiel realised he was listening carefully, and properly absorbing Castiel’s words.

“Lie down, Dean,” Castiel said gently. “I think your ass needs a squeeze.”

Dean chuckled, lying down again, hands folded under his left cheek. He went on watching Castiel, eyelashes flicking on his skin as he blinked low.

Castiel pulled Dean’s robe down completely, exposing his ass to the air. He set both hands on the soft globes of Dean’s buttocks and pushed down, earning a yelp from Dean and bringing up a teasing laugh from deep in Castiel’s throat – but a moment later they both shared the same laugh, and Castiel slapped Dean’s butt, just because he could. It jiggled.

“Benny _never_ did that,” Dean said, grinning.

“As I said last time,” Castiel smirked, massaging properly now, “I do a lot of things old Uncle Benny never did.”

It went quiet for a minute again, and Castiel naively thought he might get to Dean’s thighs without incident. That was not to be.

Castiel reached the base of Dean’s buttocks, thumbs in the thin creases between asscheeks and thighs – and Dean slowly spread his legs. Knees out, hips raised a couple of inches off the table. An invitation.

Castiel swallowed and shut his eyes, heart thudding in his throat. “Dean... I... I can’t...”

Dean made a soft breathy sound, and Castiel felt when he closed his legs again.

“Sorry,” Dean whispered. “Dunno why I did that.”

“I do,” Castiel whispered back, head down. “I was... flirting. But this is my professional job, Dean. I’m not allowed to touch you like that. I’ve led you on, and I’m sorry.”

Dean turned his face to look at Castiel, curious. “Then why flirt?”

Castiel stared back into Dean’s green eyes, heart thudding too hard in his ears, counting out the seconds of silence. In those small moments, Castiel’s mind raced. His reluctance to touch Dean had nothing to do with being unwilling to break the rules – he never much cared for rules, after all. Yet his disinclination to experience sexual contact sat core-deep inside him. And, somewhat paradoxically, so did his desire.

Castiel took a breath. In Dean’s aura was a flare of eagerness, so bright and insistent that it seemed to _pull_ Castiel’s feelings into the open, and for one unreasonable moment, Castiel ached to reveal a small part of the himself to Dean.

“I’ve always... _sensed_ things in people,” Castiel said quietly. “Seen their auras, felt their pain under my hands and known how to eliminate it. Skeptics have said that kind of thing is fraudulent, that my ability is nothing but lies, or hallucinations. But I do see and feel things that science cannot fully explain. It’s my nature for me to sense these things. But you... Dean, you’re not so different, I think. You’re sensing something in me, something that, like you, I tried to hide. Only your ability is far less spiritual.”

“What kind of something? What are you hiding?”

“I can’t tell you. I’m not even supposed to feel it. I decided long ago I wouldn’t let myself be tempted...”

“Tempted...” Dean breathed the word, then rolled over partially, leaving Castiel’s hands to slide across his hip. Dean gazed at him earnestly. “You’re totally into me.”

“I’m...” Castiel set his jaw and looked away.

“Cas...” Dean sat up, not bothering to drag the robe to cover himself. His knees pressed against Castiel’s, his torso leaning towards him. “Listen. Forget your house rules or whatever forbids you from ogling your clients. I wanna know if you like me. Yes or no?”

Castiel swallowed and looked Dean in the eye. He knew he was damned the moment he opened his mouth, but he did it anyway. “You are the single most alluring human being who has ever walked into my room. I can’t exaggerate; there’s nothing to exaggerate. I’ve never had to come to terms with wanting someone like this before.”

Dean seemed taken aback, and at the same time, his gaze grew intent, and his lips rounded, like he was already thinking about offering a kiss.

“When I was sixteen,” Castiel said, gulping dryly, “I swore to myself I wasn’t going to fall into the patterns of livelihood everyone else in my graduating class would fall into. After college we get a job, get promotions, go out dating, fall in love, get married, buy a house, have children. For a sixteen-year-old from a family of massage therapists – with the combined ideals of your average hippie, I ought to note—” Dean laughed; Castiel pressed on, “the idea of being normal simply didn’t fly with me.”

“So you took some kind of vow of chastity?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“I never needed to,” Castiel shook his head. He frowned deeply, closing his eyes. He’d revealed enough; he dared not speak his darkest secret.

Dean breathed out. “Look, man... I can’t say I get what you’re saying. But if you’re not up for a – whatever, with me, then... y’know, what can I do? I’m not gonna try and talk you into it.” When Castiel opened his eyes, Dean peered back somewhat plaintively. “If this is awkward for you, we can cut this session short. There’s another seventy-something minutes on the clock.”

“No... no,” Castiel shook his head. “You came here for a service, I can still provide that.”

Dean seemed unsure, but when Castiel nodded his decision, Dean lay back down, resting his chin on the backs of his hands, eyes up to watch Ivor twisting to lick himself.

Castiel put some more oil on his hands, and he got to massaging Dean’s thighs. He went gently at the tops, fearful of sliding his fingers into a more intimate spot. But he thought about it. He fantasised about how it would feel, how Dean would moan and shudder in pleasure and spread his legs again, wanting.

Teeth gritted, Castiel moved to Dean’s calves, working the muscles to a comfortable tenderness. Then to Dean’s feet; Dean laughed at the tickle, toes curled. Castiel tickled him on purpose, and they both snickered. Dean lay flat, and Castiel saw a flicker of joy strike through his aura.

Castiel hadn’t seen any real indication that arousal was what mattered to Dean. Dean’s attraction seemed to be about the intimacy of their words and the playful nature of Castiel’s touches. Perhaps Dean wasn’t sexually attracted – perhaps it was just Dean’s heart that yearned for Castiel’s closeness.

It was a lot to assume. And that theory didn’t account for Dean spreading his legs.

Again a flush burned under Castiel’s skin, flaming pink on his cheeks. He knew there was no hope of schooling his blush away, so he didn’t try.

“I think you’re done,” Castiel said quietly, patting Dean’s foot. “Sit up for me, and tell me how that feels.”

Dean rolled up and sat with his feet on the carpet, rolling his neck back against his shoulders. “ _Ah_ ,” he sighed, a sound which shot straight to Castiel’s groin.

Castiel folded his hands across his lap.

Dean looked over, smirking. “Feels damn good. Clearly growing up in a massage house taught you a little somethin’ about making people feel weightless. I could be floating in outer space right this second and I wouldn’t know the difference. Well, except I’d be freezing to death. But you know what I mean.”

Castiel smiled, but said nothing. He didn’t miss the moment when Dean’s eyes dipped to his covered crotch, which only made Castiel curl his hands tighter to himself.

Dean licked his lips, turning his eyes away. “This next bit’s gonna be awkward. If you’re not into the whole hugging thing, maybe we oughta reschedule. Or cancel altogether. I could go with some other therapist...”

Castiel hung his head. “If you did, I’d have to explain to my sisters why I can’t treat you any more.”

“Yeah, that’s a hard one,” Dean chuckled. “If ya catch my drift.” He blinked. “You know. Hard one. Because I induce boners.”

Castiel laughed and groaned and leaned forward, pressing his too-hot face into his too-hot, slightly oily but sweet-smelling hands. He dragged the skin under his eyes down, gazing at Dean with a feeling of despair brewing in him.

Dean bit his lower lip, half amused, half worried. “Seriously though,” he said. “Should I go? You gotta tell me.”

Castiel swallowed, then swallowed again. He could only imagine how greatly he would be tempted by lust if he embraced Dean, inhaling his scent, feeling hands on his skin in return... And yet, the thought that he would otherwise have to let Dean go, and disappoint both of them, was rather more distressing.

Castiel wet his dry lips and sat up, palms sliding down his thighs. “Would it make you uncomfortable?” he asked. “Hugging me, in my... present condition?”

Dean was already shaking his head. “So long as you’re fine with it.”

Castiel stood up slowly. Dean stood up too, putting on his robe and tying it at the waist.

Their eyes met, and they both smiled, shy of each other’s gaze.

“H-How d’you wanna do this?” Dean asked, stepping closer. “Standing up? Sitting down?”

“Here,” Castiel said, taking Dean hand and leading him to the armchair. “Sit with me.”

They sat. Castiel sank deep into the armchair’s plush pile, and Dean bumped his way back until he was tucked up next to him. Their bare feet brushed, and Dean curled his toes.

Castiel tentatively set a hand on Dean’s chest, fingertips on smooth, hairless skin. Dean breathed out, eyes roaming Castiel’s face.

Castiel closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist, making Dean laugh as they squished together, with Dean’s arms around Castiel’s shoulders.

They squeezed for several seconds, breath uneven and heartbeats loud.

This was crazy. Castiel couldn’t believe that he was acting this way with a client – he was nervous and insecure and he felt so small in Dean’s arms. Unlike last time they embraced, this time it felt like Dean was giving _Castiel_ a hug, not the other way around.

Slowly, they began to relax. Dean rested his nose against Castiel’s neck, and one naked thigh pushed out from under his robe to rest alongside Castiel’s.

Their toes toyed with each other, stroking, but neither man showed the other their smile.

Castiel forgot to check the clock beforehand, but between the second and third times he looked up, twenty minutes had gone by. All that time passed without a word between them.

Dean was comfortable to hold, Castiel realised. It was unsettling to hug another person with an unwanted erection, but it was another thing entirely to forget about that insecurity, and go on hugging for so long that his arousal faded away. Castiel now felt a sense of comfort. He became like one of his clients: unjudged for his body’s faults, rewarded with solutions to his physical needs.

Dean stroked Castiel’s hair, and Castiel heard himself whimper, burying his head down against Dean’s shoulder. Dean breathed a laugh, nuzzling Castiel’s neck.

The situation had become surreal. Surreal in the sweetest way, like a good dream.

Castiel didn’t feel like himself any more. He felt like someone else, doing things he would never do.

But this... yes. This was someone he took pleasure in being.

“Let’s lie down,” Dean whispered. He pulled back from the hug, eyes searching for Castiel’s. “We got half an hour. Let’s lie down.”

Castiel nodded, and let himself be guided into a position where he was resting on his back, his right side to the back of the armchair, his left side warmed by the weight of Dean’s body. Dean wriggled to get comfortable, and then he lay still. Their knees were bent, feet dangling off the armchair together. Their heads rested on the chair’s padded arm rest; Castiel could smell its musty red fabric, layered up with years and years of rose oil particles.

Dean sighed slowly, letting go of every last bit of tension. Castiel cradled Dean to his chest, wooed by his utter peacefulness. It took Castiel a few minutes, but soon he too was lulled by the sound of Ivor licking his fur, and the constant exhalation of the heater, and his sisters’ indecipherable muttering from outside the therapy room. The warmth of the room dragged Castiel far away from any sense of anxiety he felt before, and now he imagined he was floating. Floating, but grounded. Dean was there with him, eyes closed, their bodies entwined.

They were cuddling. This was _cuddling_.

Castiel smiled, rocking his face closer to Dean. He rested his nose on Dean’s scalp and breathed in silently, mindless for the moment that Dean was a client and he was toeing a line a professional massage therapist was not meant to cross.

Dean murmured, nosing against Castiel’s polo shirt, fingers loose and curling into the cotton.

Castiel gradually became aware of Dean’s slowed breaths, his absolute lack of composure. Despite his obvious presence against Castiel, Dean’s consciousness was absent from the room.

Dean was _asleep_.

Castiel resisted grasping Dean and pulling him so close he woke; the desire was there, it was huge and it wouldn’t settle. Castiel wanted to kiss him, he wanted to caress Dean’s stubbled cheek and murmur nonsense against his skin. He was so beautiful. _So_ beautiful. His body was maddening, his aura more so. He was a dream come to life, he was perfect. He was perfect, he was perfect.

Castiel wanted to cry. Weep for joy, yell out of frustration.

Why so many rules? Why did he have so many reasons to resist? Was there any point? What consequence would giving in have for him?

Questions, questions.

In all his life, Castiel had never thought to himself that being normal was something he wanted. He’d been bullied through school – three schools, in fact, and then two separate rounds of college – and every time he’d come out the other end, proud for making it through. Never changing except if he wanted to change.

But in that time he’d never stopped to think, perhaps people in this town, people on this _planet_ did the things they did, wanted the things they wanted, because those things were good. Because the outcome was desirable, because it made them happy. Perhaps this wasn’t true for punching numbers into a spreadsheet, or, say, driving a dump truck, but it had to be true for some things. Dating. Kissing. Falling in love. Having sex.

Just because Castiel had never done it before, and just because everyone else liked to do it, didn’t mean he was forbidden from doing it.

What did forbid him from doing it, however, was the knowledge that the way in which he _desired_ these things was riding on a whole lot of dubious consent and shame. Oh, shame, shame, shame.

Dean was asleep in Castiel’s arms, nearly a stranger to him, and Castiel could not lavish the man with the affection he so dearly wanted to give. Whoever or whatever created the world and the people in it had been cruel to Castiel. He was aroused by those who could not consent to a touch. Like Dean, right now.

Castiel let go of his lust, almost brought to tears by its furious pangs. He pushed it away, like every other time he refused to think about his fetish.

Every day, people napped on Castiel’s massage table, and he could get on with their massages without consequence. Castiel felt nothing for them beyond a general appreciation for the human form. But Dean...!

Dean, the man with a dark aura, brightened so quickly. Dean, with a longing for touch, a longing for closeness. Dean, a man who should probably sleep more at home, because _honestly_.

Castiel sighed, giving Dean a soft squeeze around the shoulders. “Dean,” he said gently. “Dean...”

Dean stirred. He was not deeply asleep – he was only dozing, mouth open. He breathed in, blinking and frowning, but didn’t seem startled to see Castiel gazing at him from an inch away. In fact, he seemed pleased.

“Hey.” Dean’s voice was husky. He smiled, blinking slow like a cat. In the dim lights of the room, his eyes seemed lust-dark, but Castiel knew that said nothing about his level of arousal.

“Hello,” Castiel replied, in a voice just as quiet and deep as Dean’s. “You fell asleep.”

“I noticed,” Dean murmured. His eyelashes dipped, his gaze trained on Castiel’s lips. “Is it time to get up?”

“No...” Castiel didn’t even glance at the clock – he wouldn’t get Dean up even if it was time.

Dean sighed, smiling, and he snuggled close again, cheek to Castiel’s chest. Castiel stared at the ceiling, worried he was nothing but a creep, a predator. He felt dirty.

Dean slowly took a breath. “...Cas?”

“Yes?” Castiel tipped his head, nose against Dean’s hair. “Is something the matter?”

Dean shivered, and Castiel felt him shift his hand. Dean’s fingers pressed against Castiel’s hip, thumbing between his polo shirt and his trousers. Then his hand moved again.

“ _Oh_ ,” Castiel breathed. He sighed out in a groan, his body surging with sparkles and bright feelings. Dean’s hand pressed on his erection, too boldly, too sure Castiel wanted it.

“Dean, I can’t—”

Dean listened, thank God. He lifted his hand and raised his head, meeting Castiel’s eyes. “Sorry. You just seem really into it.”

“I am,” Castiel assured him.

“But you’re celibate?”

Castiel squinted slightly. “Um. Sort of.”

Dean shook his head. “Are you... gonna explain?”

Castiel closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. “No.”

Dean exhaled, resting his cheek back on Castiel’s chest, and Castiel sank his fingers into Dean’s hair, stroking in a slow pattern.

Guilt sat heavy on Castiel’s chest, and for a moment he thought he couldn’t breathe. He gasped for air, swallowing down a mouthful. Dean sensed his need to get that damn secret off his chest; he spread his fingers over Castiel’s heart. Their eyes locked. Dean was waiting.

“I feel,” Castiel began, “that I can’t... _cannot_ act on my desires.”

“Why?”

Castiel gulped. “If you knew, you wouldn’t trust me.”

Dean lifted his head. “Now I _have_ to know.”

Castiel nodded. “This is going to be hard to say... Uh...” He licked his lips and raised his eyes to the ceiling, sighing. “God, I shouldn’t even be _thinking_ about telling you...”

“Please,” Dean said, under his breath.

Castiel gulped. He gazed at the ceiling, unable to hold back any longer. He summoned all the courage he had and pushed the words from his unwilling mouth. “I— I-I – have a... fetish.”

Dean scoffed. “For real?”

“It’s not what you think— I’ve never acted on it. I realised when I was young that I shouldn’t ever act on it. It’s wrong.”

Dean’s aura flickered in fear. And so did Castiel’s – fearing that Dean was already pulling away.

“When you fall asleep,” Castiel breathed. “It’s then. That’s what I love. I hate that I love it. I want the feeling to stop but I can’t. I’m not attracted to _people_ , I’m attracted to _sleep_.”

The secret was out now. Castiel closed his eyes in horror. How could he have gone and given it away after so many years? He was convinced he’d lost Dean to this confession, and next would come his job, the respect of his family, his reputation—

“So... wait, let me get this straight,” Dean said. “When I took a nap just now, that turned you on?”

Castiel squinched one eye open, peering at Dean.

Dean only looked curious. Interested. Not at all disgusted.

Castiel swallowed and opened his eyes the rest of the way. “Yeah,” he said.

Dean grinned. “You freak.”

Castiel set a hand to his forehead, covering his eyes. “I know. I know, I _know_.”

“Hey... _hey_ —” Dean took Castiel’s hand and pulled it away so their eyes met. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Listen, I hate to say it, man, but you’re not alone. We’ve all got some dirty little secret.” He paused, hesitating. “Mine’s... uh.”

Castiel propped his head up some more, intrigued.

Dean went pink again, nosing at Castiel’s shirt as he took a moment to compose himself. “I... It’s, um... I guess people call it— Crossdressing? Or whatever. I dunno.” He shrugged, eyelids fluttering. “Mostly it’s just underwear.”

Castiel let out a breath. “Wearing underwear turns you on.”

“Frilly, pretty stuff. Stuff marketed to women,” Dean said hoarsely. “The girlier, the better. God, I never told anyone—” He looked away, flabbergasted at himself. “ _Shit_.”

Castiel began to smile. “You heard my confession and you shared your own so I wouldn’t feel so bad.”

“What else was I supposed to do?” Dean retorted. “You looked like you were gonna cry or something.” He thought for a moment, green eyes drifting down to Castiel’s mouth, then back up. “Besides,” he said, “your thing’s not _that_ weird. People get all vulnerable when they sleep. Probably kinda cute, too, now I think about it. And I wake up with boners sometimes, and if you were watching me get hard that might be kinda hot? I mean... I think I get it. You’re a freak but you’re not _that_ much of a freak.”

Castiel stared. “Thank you,” he said. “I think.”

Dean chuckled, headbutting Castiel’s chin. “Just don’t tell anyone I wear panties to work, okay?”

“I promise,” Castiel said, smiling.

“Pinkie swear.” Dean lifted a hand and held out one finger.

Castiel grinned and they shook hands with their fingers linked.

When their hands fell, Dean set his cheek down on Castiel’s chest again, eyes closed. “If I fall asleep again, feel free to catalogue the moment for your spank bank.”

“That’s... very kind of you,” Castiel said dazedly.

Dean snuffled a laugh and patted Castiel’s chest a few times, then settled down for another nap.

Dean didn’t fall asleep – no doubt his head was too full of thoughts – but he did snooze for a while, and Castiel held him while he did so. They fitted together nicely.

Castiel supposed he’d come to trust Dean. More than anyone. It didn’t make sense, given they were still strangers – yet now they knew one of each other’s deepest, darkest, most abhorrent secrets. Now his had been spoken aloud, though, Castiel wondered if all this time he’d been worried about nothing. Dean had put forward some very decent reasoning for why Castiel was not an abomination, and now Castiel felt... normal. Normal in a good way. He had a fetish. Dean also had a fetish. Everyone who lay on the massage table in this room probably had a fetish. _Ivor_ probably had a fetish.

Well, maybe not. But it seemed apparent now that a little normality could most certainly be a good thing for Castiel.

When it was time for Dean to leave, Castiel drew parted fingers through his hair, gently whispering his name. Dean hummed a questioning note, but Castiel couldn’t bring himself to get up. “Nothing,” he murmured.

They cuddled for another ten minutes.

Castiel almost fell asleep himself, but in the end, Dean sat up and ruffled his own hair, grunting. He leaned down and put a soft kiss on Castiel’s chin, startling him into full awareness.

Dean’s grin was cheeky and lopsided. “Wake up, sleepyhead. I oughta go before one of your sisters comes and walks in on us. Then there’ll be questions.”

“Ah, questions,” Castiel grumbled, swinging his feet to the floor once Dean got up. “No, don’t want any of those.”

Dean undid his robe and tossed it on the massage table, eyes on Castiel. Dean seemed to be purposefully teasing him with nudity; Castiel had nowhere else to look, and Dean clearly didn’t mind that Castiel was looking. With a playful smile and a breath of laughter, Dean bent and retrieved his folded clothes from the rack on the opposite side of the massage table. Castiel bashfully watched Dean moon him, but felt no need to close his eyes or look away.

Dean carried his clothes over to Castiel, dumping them on his lap. “This is what I wore today,” he said, lifting up a dainty pair of black lace briefs, the front of them baggy and distended from the bulge of his penis. He showed them off, turning them one way and then the other. “Cute, huh?”

“Very... cute,” Castiel agreed.

Dean bent and put on his panties, slipping his hand inside to tuck his penis in comfortably. He then went for his jeans, and Castiel waited, half-watching as Dean dressed himself. It was a peculiar reverse-striptease, and Castiel wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Dean,” Castiel said, once Dean had put on his Batman t-shirt, “what is this? What is happening between us? There’s no way we can still call this a professional relationship.”

Dean shrugged carelessly, taking his jacket from the back of the armchair. “Sexy friendship?”

Castiel chuckled, head down. “So we are friends.”

“I counted myself as Benny’s friend and I didn’t do half the bonding with him that I did with you.” Dean gave Castiel a genuine smile when he looked up. “Yeah. We’re friends, Cas. Maybe... uh. Something else too.”

“Sexy friendship,” Castiel repeated.

Dean beamed. “I’m down if you are.”

Castiel stood, putting himself in Dean’s personal space. Their eyes lingered on each other’s lips, but neither moved to initiate a kiss, nor anything of the sort.

“I’ll be back for another appointment sometime,” Dean said, with a nod. “If that’s cool with you.”

“Absolutely,” Castiel said. “I look forward to seeing you.”

Dean bit his lip, gazing hungrily at Castiel’s mouth.

Castiel lowered his head, not wanting to bait him. “I’ll show you out.”

Dean got the hint. “Nah, I know where the door is,” he grinned, patting Castiel on the arm, then turning away. “Next time, Cas.”

“Next time.”

When the door closed, Castiel sighed and shut his eyes. He felt like he’d just been tossed up on a whirlwind and set back down in some alternate universe. A universe where he was starting to be okay with wanting someone, and letting someone in so they could want him back.

This was a frightening universe. But he wouldn’t go home for anything.

· · · ♥ · · ·


	3. The Way We Became Lovers

**DECEMBER 2013**

Castiel sat on the closed toilet lid in the unisex staff bathroom, head down. Warm light eased over his shoulders from above, brightening the lacquered wood panels that separated the stalls. He heard doors opening and closing down the hall, but he sat in silence, listening to his own breath.

In his hands he held a packet of condoms. It was unopened, still wrapped in plastic film. The cardboard box was a bright blue colour, and featured a picture of a feather. Castiel didn’t know why there was a feather, but it was there. It lent thoughts of gentle touches and comfort, which was perhaps why he’d picked it up in the first place. He hoped dearly that sex was a gentle act.

It felt all wrong, to be holding this. Condoms were for other people. Sex was for other people. Thirty-seven years and he’d never handled one of these boxes, not ever. He wanted to know what was inside, but at the same time, he didn’t.

There wasn’t much time before Dean arrived for this third appointment. Castiel had about five minutes to decide whether to open the packet or not.

It wasn’t a question of pros versus cons. Castiel had been over all of those a dozen times already in the past four weeks; nearly everything in him insisted it was a bad idea. And yet he couldn’t keep his hand from picking up this box from the supermarket shelf.

Curiosity. That was all.

No, not all.

_Craving_.

Eyes shut, Castiel lowered his head and did the thing he feared. He pressed his clammy thumb against the packet and pushed, ripping the plastic. The box was revealed: Castiel opened it and tipped out one roll of condoms onto his hand. He tore one condom off the roll: it came in a small square packet, with the brand’s logo printed on the foil. He handled it, and it crinkled loudly in the echoey cubicle.

Letting out a breath, Castiel took one more condom – just in case of breakages; he’d heard that could happen – and he grasped both in his hand. He stood up, put both packets into the front pocket of his white pants, then reached for his backpack, which hung on the hook on the cubicle door.

He shoved the condom packet to the bottom of the bag. He felt like a teenager, hiding from his parents. But he was only hiding from himself, and he knew it. His sisters wouldn’t go through his bag. He just didn’t want to look at the evidence of his own weakness.

With the bag zipped up, Castiel left the cubicle and wandered on shaking legs to the wood-paneled sinks under the mirror ahead. He dumped the bag on the bench and moved to wash his hands, trying hard not to look his reflection in the eye.

It wasn’t so bad, he told himself. After years of thinking he was completely asexual, realising he _wasn’t_ entirely void of sexual attraction ought not be so terrible. And, unlike kinks, fetishes were similar to sexual orientations. They weren’t to be swayed by anything. They just _were_.

Perhaps his anxiety stemmed from knowing that if his sexual orientation was now different, perhaps his fetish might vanish the same way.

“Oh, stop,” Castiel whispered to himself. He looked himself in the eye, determined as ever. _Stop analysing yourself,_ he thought firmly. _You can’t be the same person forever. You’ve been this way since college; it’s not the end of the world if you change._

He scowled, eyes moving to his bare forearm. Water had splashed his skin, and his makeup was running clear. The black shade of tattoo ink showed through in a streak.

Castiel tore a paper towel from the dispenser, and he dabbed at his arm. The makeup came away in patches, revealing most of the outline of a roaring bear. Once the patches were dry, Castiel went into his bag and got out his tattoo concealer, uncapping the lid with his thumb. He smeared some fluid over the tattoo, rubbing it in with a finger until it dried. Then he closed up the concealer and tossed it back into his bag.

Now his arm looked like anyone else’s arm. Pale from winter, though naturally brownish. _Beechwood_ was the name of his concealer. Castiel was beechwood-coloured.

Castiel looked his reflection dead in the eyes, and he nodded. Whatever happened today, whatever new things he discovered about himself, he vowed not to let it haunt him.

· · · ♥ · · ·

When Dean arrived, he brought a _heat_ with him. Castiel knew right away that this session would invite intimate touches, though not much traditional massage.

“Give me a minute,” Castiel muttered, before Dean had even said hello. Castiel turned to Ivor, reaching to lift him. “Come here, Ivor. I know, I know, I’m sorry.”

“Where are you taking him?” Dean asked, watching Castiel carry the cat from the room.

“Somewhere else. If you’re ready, change into your robe.”

With that, Castiel left and went to the staff room, relieved there was nobody there to see him. He put Ivor on the windowsill, where the cat could watch the snow tickle at the grey air outside, or count the blinks in the coloured Christmas lights in the store fronts over the road.

“I’ll be back for you later,” Castiel promised his pet, stroking him. “Dean and I need some privacy this time.”

Ivor meowed, thrashing his tail about.

Castiel sighed. “I’m sorry.”

That was all he could offer. He turned around and went back to Dean, giving Rachel a forced smile when she walked past the door.

Castiel stepped back into the warmth of his massage room, then pressed the door closed and rested his forehead against it. He was swimming in turmoil, genuinely not sure if he was doing the right thing.

He expected to turn around and see Dean nude. If Dean asked plainly to have sex, Castiel would do it. If Dean gave no more than implication, or further flirtation, Castiel would stay back and let that be as far as they went.

When Castiel faced Dean, Dean was dressed in his white robe. Not naked. Always so sure, so confident and _in control_ while in this room... now Castiel didn’t know what to do.

Dean managed a smirk. “It’s good to see you, man.”

“You too,” Castiel nodded. “How... How have you been?”

“Real wild,” Dean smiled. “If I weren’t living loud day-to-day, I’d barely believe how awesome I feel now.” His raised eyebrows quirked slightly. “You?”

Castiel shrugged. He remained pressed against the door, afraid to get closer. Dean’s aura was burning hot, alive with reds and oranges. It was obvious to Castiel that Dean was not here for healing. He was here for sex. He was full of sexual energy, lust and desire. That didn’t bother Castiel so much as the awareness that his own aura was a perfect mirror for Dean’s. Already a swell pressed tight in Castiel’s pants, lending him an urge of hunger that almost squashed his trepidation.

“Ah...” Dean looked about himself, licking his lips. “Look, before you ask – I can’t tell you what the hell I’m doing here. I ain’t had a backache in weeks. I went and did a training course, and this last month I’ve been volunteering down at the fire department. They call me outta my office at random hours, pull me outta bed, and I go put out fires. It’s hella dangerous, and tiring as fuck. I sound ridiculous saying it, but it’s _fun_. I needed that madness in my life, you know? Hands-on. And most days I’m still makin’ ninety an hour at my day job, but who even wants the 401k if your life’s a snoozefest, am I right?”

Castiel nodded quietly, sneaking forward a few steps. Dean’s voice put him at ease to some extent, which was a good reminder that if this was going to happen, Dean was the right individual to have it happen with.

Dean licked his lips again, eyes set on Castiel’s. “I guess I got you to thank for the life coaching. I did what you suggested – switched tracks. I feel _fierce_ , y’know? Out there savin’ lives. Getting my hands dirty. I put on about five pounds of muscle, too.”

“I see that,” Castiel said, eyeing Dean’s biceps. His robe had fit him comfortably before, but now it strained around his shoulders and arms.

“I, uh... came here to see you,” Dean confessed. “Tell you how things are going. And...” He eyed Castiel hopefully, “...there was something else... Something I wanted. Look, I heard what you said about never being with someone before. I get that. And I get that it’s all about sleep for you. But you _want_ me, Cas, even when I’m awake. I _know_ you do. And I— I just thought – maybe...”

There it was. Dean had asked. Now Castiel couldn’t back down.

“Maybe?” Castiel echoed. “There’s no maybe about it.”

“Does that mean yes?” Dean smirked.

There was no way Dean hadn’t noticed Castiel’s arousal. He didn’t need the ability to see auras to see Castiel was dark-eyed, red-cheeked and red-lipped; his eyes flicked between Dean’s eyes and mouth, searching for the same reactions to his presence.

Castiel crept closer, enticed by Dean’s heat. The hours he must’ve spent in fires seemed to have loaned Dean the energy of flames: he burned hot from his core. Being more of a woodland spirit, Castiel felt himself steaming in Dean’s presence. Dean had once seemed small in this room but now he took up the whole space.

He was more beautiful than ever. Beautiful like the fucking _sun_.

Castiel’s breath left him, rushing past his lower lip without him noticing. He was lost in Dean, devoured by his incandescence. “Oh,” Castiel whispered. “ _Yes_. It means yes.”

Dean licked his lips for the third time. He and Castiel stood toe-to-toe, breathing each other’s air. A storm had electrified between them when neither had been looking; the energy could’ve blown out the walls for how forceful it was becoming. Castiel couldn’t imagine how stubborn they were to resist for this long.

Dean’s breath fluttered and caught like a butterfly, while Castiel’s padded to his lip and shrunk back, like a young fox leaving its den for the first time. They were nothing but animals now. They both knew it.

Dean leaned in, but he didn’t kiss. His lips were parted and wet, eyes lowered to Castiel’s mouth.

Dean’s fingers curled around the lapels of the white dressing gown he wore, and he pulled each side apart, shoulders rolling forward, one by one, in a slow movement of seduction. He held Castiel’s eye as the cloth dropped away, leaving him naked. His skin radiated with enticements but Castiel couldn’t make his eyes leave Dean’s in order to look.

“Will you lie down?” Castiel asked, still breathless. “Perhaps I’m crazy for thinking we might still begin with a massage.”

Dean chuckled, plush lips pulled wide to show his teeth. “Too crazy,” he muttered. His eyes were ravenous. “I— I’d rather do this kneeling.” At that, he groaned around a breath, eyes half-closed as he tilted his head. “God... wanna blow you so bad...”

Castiel felt his body tremble as Dean donned a partial smile and held his gaze, lowering his body down. His hands held firmly to Castiel’s waist.

“Oh,” Castiel said – barely a sound from his lips.

Dean knelt at Castiel’s feet, his breath touching Castiel’s stiffened crotch. He stared at Castiel, waiting for his word.

Castiel couldn’t think clearly. He wanted what Dean offered, forgetting for the moment that he wasn’t meant to want it. His fingers dipped into his too-tight front pocket, and he pulled out one condom.

Dean saw the packet and he smiled. “Came prepared,” he said, taking the packet with some surprise. “You knew I’d want this?”

“I knew _we_ wanted this,” Castiel corrected. “If I weren’t so sure I never would’ve bothered.”

Dean licked his lips for the fourth time. He ripped the side of the condom packet, revealing the white half-moon of the condom. Castiel shivered, hands rushing to his pants; he unbuttoned the front and undid the zipper, pushing the partition down to his thighs. His hands clashed with Dean’s at the waistband of his boxers – Dean wanted the honour of baring his skin.

Dean pushed his face up against Castiel’s underwear – he breathed in, eyes closed, shameless. He groaned, mouthing at the cotton of Castiel’s thin covering. Castiel felt the wetness of Dean’s mouth, the smug heat that flowed over his teeth when he pulled and tugged at the cloth.

Castiel set one shaking hand into Dean’s hair, stroking it down. Soft, spiky. Dean’s green eyes looked up, his attention drawn by the touch. He still had Castiel’s boxers between his teeth; he locked onto Castiel’s gaze and dragged the cloth down with his weight, revealing Castiel’s sex to the light.

Castiel’s erection bobbed up halfway. He was as stiff as he could get without a touch. A fleeting fear stole through him; he’d never been touched by another hand. Dean – oh, Dean, _Dean_ with his fingers hot as flame, Dean with his strong grip and sure movement – he was the first.

“O-oh, my,” Castiel stammered. His knees went weak. He was tugged and pulled by Dean’s strolling hand, languid movements, learning and testing and showing Castiel how it could be. The condom unrolled – cold for a moment, tight and clinging – then it became a part of him, moving with his skin as Dean moved his hand.

And then came the heat and the wetness; Castiel shut his eyes as he became overwhelmed. Dean’s mouth closed around the head of his penis, teeth expertly drawn away. Such a tender touch. Castiel immediately few too raw, too exposed.

Dean pulled back, hand gripping Castiel’s. “Ow— Ow, Cas!”

Castiel realised he was pulling Dean’s hair. “Oh, no, I’m sorry...”

Dean’s eyes were watering, his lips set in a grim line. He rubbed at his sore head, glaring accusingly at Castiel. “I was trying to be gentle, man. What gives?”

“I... I’ve never felt...” Castiel looked down at his erection, surprised to see it fully stiff, foreskin stretched back under the condom. It glistened at the tip, wet from Dean’s spit.

“Yeah,” Dean said, with a flippant grin. “I put my _mouth_ there. Good, ain’t it?”

Castiel let out a calming breath. “I think I need to sit down.”

Dean got to his feet and rubbed his knees down, then helped Castiel to the armchair. He laid out one of the wool blankets for him, and offered his hands to keep Castiel from toppling over when he sat. Castiel sank back, bare buttocks against the wool. He stared at the one beaming light hung from the ceiling, and he supposed he was dazed: there were three other lights sparkling around it.

Dean chuckled, sinking to his knees again. “I’ll go slow. You, uh... You’ve really never done this before?”

“Never,” Castiel whispered. He blinked. “Thank you.”

“Thank you?” Dean grinned. “I haven’t even started yet.”

“I know, but... Really.”

Dean lowered his eyes, humbled. “Just relax, okay?” He ran his hands up Castiel’s thighs, then back down. “Take it easy.”

“I’m the one who’s meant to be saying that to you,” Castiel muttered. He came to his senses for a moment, and sat up, looking around for a towel. He spotted Dean’s robe on the floor, and beckoned to it. “Pass me that?”

Dean, confused, handed Castiel the robe. Castiel folded it up into thirds, then sixths, and shooed Dean back from the armchair so he could lay the padding on the floor. “Kneel on that,” Castiel said kindly. “I won’t have you hurting your knees.”

Dean’s eyes sparkled as he came up close, knees on the robe. He seemed about ready to say something else, but forewent the remark, instead bending forward to sink down, his mouth open around Castiel’s erection.

“Oh... _shit_ ,” Castiel gasped, bucking up into Dean’s mouth. Hot, hot, _hot_ and slick— _Engulfing_.

Dean hummed around Castiel’s flesh, eyes slipping closed. His head bobbed once, his shoulders relaxing so he sank deeper.

Castiel’s hands came to rest on Dean’s neck, on his head. Heat bled between them, a lava flow or a comet, perhaps both. Blood ran fast in Castiel’s system, every sense pounding with adrenaline but smothered somehow – he couldn’t see right, he couldn’t hold a rhythm in which to breathe. He trembled and he squirmed, aching for more of Dean’s tongue and teeth and the lick of his slipping saliva.

Dean really started to get into it, eyes shut, small vocalisations of pleasure bursting up on every few strokes. He buried his face down against Castiel’s pubic hair, breathing in, _swallowing_ —

Moaning.

Oh, how Dean moaned.

Every sense that Castiel possessed came alive and then extended further – from the feel of his own skin came the feel of Dean’s; he heard two heartbeats instead of one; tasted the salt-earth stench that came from his own body, hanging in the air. He couldn’t be sure what part was a hallucination caused by untameable pleasure, and what part was purely knowledge of this act, awareness of himself and empathy for Dean’s senses – but when Dean moaned, Castiel felt himself reeling in bliss. The sound racketed through his bloodstream and his bones surged, his muscles tense and hard and aching—

Dean licked and suckled and kissed everywhere he could find to touch, his nose wet with saliva, chin running with it, eyes dark as night whenever Castiel caught a glimpse of his lustful gaze. Dean was hungry for everything he gulped down his throat; Castiel imagined he would’ve swallowed every emission, had a condom not been in the way to stop him.

Castiel gasped and groaned under his shaking breath, teeth gritted in the occasional grunt. Dean let him buck deep – he didn’t seem to mind when he choked. Castiel caught him smiling once, when Dean pulled away to swallow and change the position of his jaw.

Both of Dean’s hands gripped Castiel’s thighs most of the time, thumbs stroking in a soothing way. Castiel only really noticed whenever his thighs were left weightless: Dean slid a hand down under the chair, wrapping a hand around himself to make sure he stayed hard. Castiel didn’t understand how Dean could be so selfless, wanting to give rather than take or provide for himself; every time, Dean brought his hand back up, putting a new wave of passion into pleasuring Castiel.

Castiel got the idea eventually, having learned that Dean would keep on going until Castiel was satisfied. So Castiel decided – in a strangely lucid thought – it was time for Dean to be pleasured.

“Come up here,” Castiel breathed. Dean looked up but he didn’t stop sucking, nose rocking into Castiel’s belly. “Dean,” Castiel said, “why don’t you – _ah!_... l-let me touch you...”

Dean’s mouth sucked free with a wet slop, crinkling the condom. His face was shiny and pink. He shook his head, catching his breath. “I wanna finish you off,” he panted, leaning in again, eyes slow on Castiel’s. “I love this...” He lowered his eyes and groaned as he sank down again, nosing at Castiel’s erection. “Oh, God, you’re so fuckin’ hot.” Castiel tipped his head back and cried out as Dean swallowed him whole yet again, letting out a low drone of delight as he did.

Dean took genuine pleasure from providing sexual satisfaction for his partner. Castiel had never realised a person with such a drive could exist. Castiel was selfish in comparison – even while asking Dean if he wanted reciprocation, he’d wished he didn’t have to give it. But he couldn’t withhold reciprocation without being labeled an asshole.

It seemed, Castiel thought, he had a lot to learn.

Dean went on giving what he was so good at giving, hands soon moving to encircle Castiel’s lower back. From there, Castiel could tip up his hips and fuck into Dean’s mouth, and Dean was there, ready, waiting – even _pulling_ Castiel in. His nasal breaths were smothered by Castiel’s belly, and Dean went on without pause, breathing in at the apex of every motion, then out at the next one. His rhythm was impeccable, and Castiel doubted he could keep from orgasming if Dean went on for another ten or twenty strokes like that.

Determined thoughts buzzed away to a pleasant haze; Castiel let Dean’s mouth work him to the point of insanity, not caring if he was struggling to breathe or was too frugal with the sounds he released – who cared if someone heard? Who cared if this was the last thing Castiel ever did? He was about to lose himself to another man’s twisted tongue and there was never a sweeter way to open the gates of Hell. He’d die happy. Mindless, but happy.

Castiel slipped down until he was lying on the seat of the armchair, hips pushed up so his back arched, both hands clenched around Dean’s head. Dean swallowed around what would’ve spilled; the condom grew thick and Castiel’s body felt empty; he was done. It was over and he felt wet, sweating hot and dripping with Dean’s saliva.

Dean’s lips were swollen magenta, eyes blazing with a peculiar manner of lust when Castiel took in the sight of him. He still knelt, he still grasped Castiel’s hips with open hands. He seemed subdued, though – expecting something.

Castiel touched Dean’s hair, stroking his fingers back. “Th-that,” he shivered, “was... other _world_ ly.”

Dean chuckled, a grin spreading as he ducked his head and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “I almost came,” he said with a thick voice, long eyelashes lifting. He bit his lower lip shyly, shaking his head. “That moan you did... I thought you were breakin’ apart.” He turned his head and kissed Castiel’s inner thigh. Then he laughed, hiding his burning-hot cheeks against Castiel’s crumpled pants. “Fuck, I hope no-one heard us.”

Castiel tugged at Dean’s hair, loving the tickle of it between his fingers. “Even if anyone did hear us, they won’t come in,” he panted. “I’ll deal with them and the rules later.”

Dean swallowed. He attended to the condom, slipping it off Castiel’s slumped erection and tossing it into the trash can under the sink at the end of the room. Dean had a perfect aim – Castiel heard the latex flop to the empty base.

Dean licked his lips a countless time, slowly getting to his feet. His thighs were shaking.

Castiel looked, and saw Dean was still half-hard. This was why he’d looked expectant: he’d waited his turn, and now it was time.

Castiel quickly began scheming, panic driving him to find a way to reciprocate in the least-involved way possible. “What would you like?” he asked. He hoped – _prayed_ it wouldn’t be difficult.

Dean shrugged, grinning. “Uh... Those massages you do...” he tilted his head, “they limited to external parts?”

Castiel chuckled in relief. “Not at all,” he said. He nodded to the bowl of scented oil on the massage table. “Bring me that?” Dean looked, then went over and fetched it, bringing it back. He kept one hand around his erection, pumping it hard.

Castiel set the bowl down beside the armchair. He took Dean by the hips, pulling him close. He kissed Dean’s stomach, eyes on his. “I can put my fingers inside if you like?”

Dean nodded eagerly, then hesitated. “You got another condom?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “But this oil would destroy the latex. I have nitrile gloves...” He nodded towards the sink, where a dispenser was attached to the wall.

Dean went to it without further prompting, and he tugged out a single purple glove. “Why do you have these?”

“Not every client likes direct skin contact,” Castiel explained. “And I sometimes use them when I clean the room.” He held out his hand and took the glove, smiling to himself as he slipped it on. All the other times he’d put these gloves on, they felt clingy and dusty inside, and the feeling inspired discomfort – but today, now, they felt sexy to don. Oh, what a remarkable sensation it was. Tight but loose, cold but warm. Castiel bent and stretched two fingers, testing the give of the nitrile. When he was sure the glove wasn’t going to rip when he moved, he dipped his fingers into the oil, bringing them up shiny.

Dean’s breaths hitched and released in excitement. While Castiel wasn’t sure how to go about this, Dean apparently was: he opened his legs either side of Castiel’s knees, rocking his feet steady. He took hold of the armchair’s wings, angling his buttocks forward so his erection was almost in Castiel’s face.

“I don’t see...?”

“Go under or around, I don’t care. Just put your fingers in my ass,” Dean whispered. He crooked his right knee and sank down into the armchair beside Castiel, leaning off to the side and further over his lap.

Castiel reached his right arm across Dean’s lower back, fingers seeking Dean’s anus. This felt bizarre all over again: Dean crooned as he felt a touch between his ass cheeks, and Castiel wondered if he was doing it right. Dean bucked backward, trying to get Castiel’s fingers inside.

Castiel pushed gently, fingertips on the crinkled rim. Dean squirmed, then sighed: Castiel’s digits breached the ring of muscle and were swallowed up in one gulp by the tightest, hottest thing he’d ever felt around his hand. He’d sucked on his own fingers before, and he’d felt Dean’s mouth around his penis, which both felt similar, but this was tighter, this was hotter, this was slick beyond belief.

Castiel had never thought massage oil could allow for such things to happen. He’d had an inkling, of course, but this was so _smooth_. It was like Dean’s hole was created to let him inside.

Dean sighed happily, resting his face against Castiel’s shoulder. This was an unconventional position: Castiel sat in his armchair as normally as ever, while Dean sat almost on his lap, facing him, left foot on the floor, body angled right so Castiel could push his fingers in.

Castiel massaged Dean slowly, pulling at his rim, stroking the sleek channel inside him. He moved aimlessly, without much thought. He knew there was a prostate to find somewhere in there, but he focused not on that, but making Dean comfortable first.

Castiel had no idea what kind of sex act this was meant to be, but Dean seemed to like it. His aura had that same current of red in it as before, but now it was not like fire, but like embers. He was calm – and satisfied, interestingly enough.

Now his own orgasm was out of the way, Castiel could think more clearly. Following a studious train of thought, he supposed that Dean wanted sex for emotional satisfaction. He was a people-pleaser. And, Castiel also supposed – so was Castiel himself. They were gladdened when other people could be made happy. Castiel had a good day when a client had a good day; Dean was satisfied when Castiel was satisfied. All they were doing now, with Castiel’s fingers buried deep in Dean’s ass, was taking away that tense edge, helping Dean feel more complete in this activity. This was not a passionate, hungry adventure for either of them any more. Dean just enjoyed the feeling of fingers inside him.

Castiel found this most fascinating. He watched Dean nuzzle at his shoulder, heard him whimper occasionally, and Castiel smiled. Dean was a sweet creature. As mere embers, he was easily pleased. It was the roaring furnace that Castiel couldn’t contend with. Too enticing, too much to resist.

Castiel cuddled Dean as his fingers fucked him, because it seemed like the thing to do. Dean was soft and malleable, and he lay in Castiel’s lap when Castiel moved to lie down. Dean purred and he grumbled, back arching once or twice when Castiel stroked that special spot inside, but mostly he was a quiet partner.

“Would you like to talk?” Castiel asked, his left hand stroking Dean’s hair while his right was still busy. “Or I could go faster if you like...”

Dean shook his head. “I like slow.” He met Castiel’s eyes, barely lifting his head from his chest. “And I like to talk.”

Castiel nosed Dean’s cheek, smiling when Dean lay his head back down, fingers curled up in Castiel’s collar. “What would you like to discuss?”

“How about you tell me where you learned to be so gentle.”

Castiel grinned. “I grew up with older sisters,” he said. “I figured out I’m more likely to see an easier temperament when I’m the one to tread gently.”

“I, uh, actually meant... how you touch. How do you know what to do?”

“Oh,” Castiel said. “Well, I don’t know. Common knowledge, perhaps? Or instinct. I like to go slow too.”

“Slow... Was the blowjob okay?”

Castiel nodded. “If it hadn’t been so... ahm... needy—” Dean chuckled, “I never would’ve learned I prefer it slow.”

“Sometimes I just get desperate,” Dean murmured, stretching his neck so his nose pressed into Castiel’s throat. “Want someone so bad I lose my mind.”

“I understand,” Castiel said. And he did. He watched a car’s lights flash past the window and chase flickers across the ceiling, and he wished he didn’t understand quite so well.

“Does it live up to your expectations?” Dean smiled, eyelashes fluttering on Castiel’s jaw. “Sex, I mean.”

“I don’t think I had any expectations,” Castiel replied thoughtfully. “I wanted to touch you in a way I wasn’t allowed, and I got my wish.”

“Oh, it’s a dirty thing. Forbidden love. I get it,” Dean chuckled. But the laugh faded. “Would you still want me if you weren’t forbidden from touching me like this?”

Castiel considered that. “Yes,” he said. “Because the way I want you is still something I can’t have, and will never have.”

“How so?”

Castiel pushed his fingers against Dean’s prostate, filled with a powerful rush when he distracted Dean and made him give a real, actual _mewl_ , feeling him break out in a sweat. Dean gasped. Castiel let him settle.

“I want to watch you sleep,” Castiel said, without any shame. “And I can’t have that. Something about you, Dean, is intricately tied into my sexuality, and this fetish I wished I didn’t have. I see you, I feel you... I have you here in my arms and you’re part of it. You _are_ what turns me on. All of it. You, asleep. You, awake. You, asking to suck me off, or wanting to feel me inside you. You’re everything I shouldn’t want.”

Dean exhaled. “What makes you think you shouldn’t have that? _Can’t_ have that? So what if you wanna watch me sleep? We can do that. Head back to my place. Or your place, whatever’s easier. A little self-indulgence isn’t a big deal, not to me. How do you think I got started wearing lingerie, huh?”

Castiel scoffed. “Dean, what we have can never leave this room. Forgive me for saying it, but you don’t know _shit_ about me outside of what I’ve shown you. And I don’t know the first thing about you outside of what you told me. I don’t even know your last name. I can never find out how much of what you said is a lie. I see your aura, but I can’t see the whole truth in that.”

Dean lifted his head. “What’re you even talking about, Cas? I never lied to you. Why would I?”

Castiel shook his head, staring at the ceiling because he felt unable to meet Dean’s eyes. “Everyone lies to strangers.”

“Cas, I came in here to tell the truth, to get a whole bunch of crap off my chest! I never bent the truth, not once. I got no reason to.” Dean huffed, somehow ignoring the stroke Castiel gave his prostate. “Unless...” he breathed out, a fingertip reaching to touch Castiel’s chin. “Unless you lied to _me_?”

Castiel sighed. He slid his fingers out of Dean, because Dean wasn’t responding any more. “Yes,” he said. “Of course I lied to you. I lie to everyone who ever enters the doors of this building.”

Dean frowned, sitting back by an inch. “What was it? What did you say to me?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Not every lie is spoken, Dean.”

Dean sat up completely, licking his lips, balanced unevenly as he tried not to put weight on his sore hole. “Then set it right,” he said gruffly. “Tell the truth now. I’m a forgiving guy, I can deal. Just come clean.”

Castiel sat up too, his bare thigh pressed to Dean’s. “I’m not going to. I like you, Dean, I do. But some secrets exist only to be kept.”

Dean looked baffled. “Were you kidding about the sleep fetish thing?”

“No,” Castiel sighed. “No, that’s... unfortunately very real.” He snapped the glove off his hand, turning it inside out before throwing it towards the trash, but it landed in the sink above. “The truth is really not a huge deal. Given your reaction to every personal fact I’ve shared, you’d most likely laugh it off if you knew. But, put simply, I’d rather not share some parts of me, not now, not after what we’ve done. You know me as one thing and I’m another thing entirely. I don’t want to mar what good you see in me. And I...” Castiel frowned, chewing his tongue. “I don’t want to get any more attached to you than I already am.”

Dean looked away in a sulk, understandably rattled.

“Do you want to finish?” Castiel asked, setting a hand on Dean’s thigh. “If a handjob is anything like masturbation, I know how to do that...”

Dean laughed, but it was on the edge of bitter. “No,” he said. “Look, man, why didn’t you just take me up when I first asked? Offer still stands: let me take you on a date. Dinner and a movie, night in – whatever. Bring your cat. I don’t wanna date, you don’t wanna date, but there’s clearly something we oughta be sharing here, so why not take it through official channels? Yeah, I don’t know you yet – but I _want_ to know you.”

“Dean—” Castiel was frustrated now, and he wanted this to stop. He liked it better when they were cuddling, not sniping at each other. “I don’t _want_ a relationship, it’s that simple. I just want to get on with my nine-to-five job, not caring how attractive someone is or how much I want to make them moan. You came in here and you...” He made a vague gesture in mid-air, jaw set.

“I fucked it up,” Dean said. He didn’t sound pleased. He stood up, kicking the folded robe away from his bare feet. “You know what? Fuck you. I thought you were sweet and nice and gentle, but you’re all that and more. You’re real angry inside, anyone ever tell you that? You carry a bunch of tension in your heart region, or whatever fancy words you freakin’ hippies like to use.” He stood naked, glaring at Castiel, who hadn’t bothered to get up.

“This isn’t what I want, Dean. You and me, rutting against the massage table every few weeks? I don’t want that any more than I want my future to involve getting married and settling down.”

“So what _do_ you want?!”

Castiel shrugged. “We got it right the first time you came in. We talked, I massaged you, we made each other smile. Then we—”

“Cuddled.” Dean spat the word with the venom of resentment. “That’s all you want?”

“That’s all I want.” Castiel felt relieved to say it. Thank God. Still asexual. Nothing about him had ever changed except if he wanted it to, and now he had agency over his own desires again. The experience had been good, but having sex with Dean hadn’t changed anything. _Still asexual_.

Dean had both hands over his eyes, and he sighed. He opened his hands up like he was playing peekaboo with a child – but his expression was damning when he showed Castiel his face. “This isn’t gonna work,” Dean said, voicing the thought aloud for both of them. “I need more than a _cuddle_ once in a while, Cas. I can’t share myself with you and get nothing back. I want a friend, not a freakin’ therapist. I have no idea what you lied to me about, but I get this feeling this... this whole _asshole_ version of you? That’s the goddamn truth of it.”

Castiel lowered his eyes, having no qualm with that observation.

Dean let his hands fall from his face, and he looked down at himself. He was no longer hard, unsurprisingly.

“I suggest,” Castiel said, “you find yourself another masseur. At another company.”

Dean didn’t argue. He rubbed his forehead, then turned away and picked up his clothes. “All in the name of professional preservation, I’m guessing. Don’t wanna _deal_ with me any more.”

“Quite.”

Dean pulled his grey shirt on, putting a purple plaid overshirt on top, then he went for his jeans. He dressed with his back to Castiel, a cloud of anger and frustration of confusion lingering like a thunderstorm in his aura.

Castiel couldn’t feel guilt for hurting Dean like this. Perhaps Dean saw him as selfish, or a hypocrite, not wanting to let anyone in even after Dean made the effort to do exactly that in his own life, acting on Castiel’s instructions. Yet this had nothing to selfishness, not really. Sexual crisis aside, Castiel couldn’t deny he felt something genuine for Dean. But the mess he’d made of their interaction today proved to him that having a relationship with Dean would be too much, too soon.

Thirty-seven years old, and Castiel was still as naive as a child.

He had some growing to do before he was ready to care for Dean the way he deserved to be cared for. It was with that thought in mind that Castiel calmly allowed Dean leave without saying a word, without paying for the session, and without a single look back.

· · · ♥ · · ·


	4. Again, In A Different World

**JULY 2015**

Dean kept to himself, shoulders hunched forward, elbows pressed into his dark blue jeans. He watched afternoon sunlight flash against the dirty, graffitied glass opposite him, blotting out most of the sights the train ride had to offer. He saw green, then grey, then green and grey – countryside, town, then somewhere in between.

He would rather drive, any day. He had his Baby back at home (his ‘67 Chevy Impala, that is), but if he was going to get between New Hampshire and South Dakota by himself within a reasonable number of hours – without falling asleep at the wheel and ending up in a ditch somewhere, or otherwise arriving exhausted, disheveled, and practically subhuman – his only option was the train.

If Sam hadn’t already taken a flight over, they could’ve driven together and split their time between driving and sleeping. Frankly, Dean was irked. It wasn’t _his_ fault he hated planes with a passion.

Now he was alone in a train car full of people. He’d switched cars twice, trying to avoid the worst of the crowds, but by the thirty-eighth hour, things were just as bad as they had been on the bus the day before. Dean dared not pull his laptop out, in case it got sneezed on, or one of these hitchhiking hipsters dropped their giant backpack on his knees.

The only upside he saw to his day right now was that a mere two hours remained until the train pulled up in Omaha. From there he’d take a bus to Sioux Falls, then hire a taxi to Bobby’s house. He was looking at another six or seven hours of travel, at a guess.

He leaned back in his seat and sighed, eyes slipping closed. He couldn’t wait to have a shower. He’d bet anything he smelled like actual crap.

He checked his watch again when they stopped at another station. “ _Pulling up to Creston, Iowa_ ,” the conductor announced, amidst other crackly, barely-discernable words.

Dean scowled when the train filled with passengers, bringing new smells and even more luggage. Lunch hour had just ended, so Dean could smell iced coffee in the hands of some new arrivals, and sandwiches in others. He felt his stomach pining for nourishment – maybe an ice-cream, or a chilled fruit smoothie – but there was nothing to be done about that until he reached the next station.

The train went on jolting and screeching, chugging onwards towards the west. The sun had its periods of flickering through trees, but when it hit the train full-force, the temperature in the car went up by what felt like twenty degrees. Like everyone else sitting and standing in the car, Dean was sweating through his shirt. He took off his leather jacket and held it on his lap, hugging his backpack.

A burly woman beside Dean began eating a packet of chips, which smelled offensively vinegary, tingling Dean’s nostril hairs. He breathed shallowly and attempted not to sniff.

The passengers in the car moved about and chatted, taking phone calls and making friends. Dean thought about food, and Sam, and what Bobby’s party would be like once night fell. The weather was clear and bright; there wouldn’t be a cloud in the sky later, which would be perfect for the firework display Uncle Bobby set up every year.

Dean smiled. He’d always loved the Fourth of July. This year was going to be as good as the last.

Forty minutes before the train was scheduled to arrive in Omaha, Dean’s day changed. It was a small thing at first. All that happened was this: one of those hipsters with the giant backpacks finished taking photos of himself, and decided to go and take photos of the train. So he took his bag and he excused and pardoned his way through the crowd, leaving a space directly in front of Dean.

Dean looked up, and for the first time since boarding in Chicago, he saw the other side of the train car. The seats ran in parallel, one long row down either edge. Every seat was full. What caught Dean’s eye was not another passenger, but a cat carrier.

It was a dome-shaped wicker basket, with a metal handle on top. A cream-coloured cat with a brown face was nestled comfortably inside, its interested blue eyes observing the movements of the humans around it through the grate in front of its face.

Dean had a feeling he’d seen this cat before, but logic reminded him that the chances of that were slim-to-none. A cat was a cat. They all looked vaguely similar.

Dean always kind of liked cats, despite his allergies. He wanted to get up and pet the animal, or at least ask its owner if he could – but he didn’t want to lose his seat. He’d been hanging onto metal bars from Princeton, I.A. to Burlington, so he felt no shame for hogging the seat.

He settled for staring. He smiled when the cat met his eyes. Dean mouthed a soft “Hi,” amused when the cat stared back without much reaction, equally as fascinated by Dean. It twitched its dark whiskers, sniffing with its pink little nose.

When the cat blinked slowly, Dean blinked back, remembering his training on feline behaviour from the firefighting course he’d taken. He’d gotten a few cats out of trees in the past eighteen months – he figured he knew a thing or two about slow blinks. The cat was saying it liked him, and Dean would be mad not to assure it he felt the same way.

The cat eventually set its eyes half-closed, acting bored. Dean lost interest after a few minutes; a dozing cat was a dull cat, and not overly entertaining to Dean, even when the creature travelled with surprising sobriety. Dean had never seen a cat on public transport except when carried about by old ladies, and those cats were always yowling.

The person whose hand kept hold of this particular cat carrier was almost certainly not an old lady. Dean saw tanned, broad fingers and tattoos starting at the wrist.

Dean liked tattoos a lot. It didn’t matter if they were attached to irritating, pretentious teenagers or batty old women with their teeth falling out – Dean found them sexy. Even the weird ones with Buddy Christ distorted across shoulder blades.

Dean couldn’t see the body or face of the cat’s owner, as they were hidden behind some chubby dude’s trailing shirt and leopard-printed leather pants, but he could see enough that he knew he’d like the person.

A roaring bear in black ink made up most of their left forearm. When their hand moved to rest over the top of the cat carrier, and Dean saw a cartoon vampire squid steering a pirate ship. Beside that was Snoopy and his bird friend, and – Dean had to squint to be sure – yup, a full-colour rendition of a peanut-butter-jelly sandwich.

Dean wondered if he might be a little bit in love. He almost didn’t care what this person’s face looked like. He certainly didn’t care what gender they were. They liked some cool fucking shit, and they had a nice fucking cat, and he definitely wanted to go say hi before the train reached Omaha.

Dean wasn’t a shy person. He really wasn’t. If he knew anything about himself it was that genetics forewent the slugs, the snails and the puppy-dogs’ tails; he was made up of 50% charisma, 30% good looks and 50% awesome... and 10% bad math. But the point is, he didn’t need to be kicking himself into getting up to say something.

And yet, he couldn’t do it. He’d given a hi-there-I-like-your-face to attractive strangers a hundred times before and it always ended the same way: he was the one who ended up hurt or blushing. Or both.

Dean swallowed, trying to look away. There’d be other people with neat tattoos, and maybe one day there’d be someone out there for Dean, tattoos or no tattoos. But Dean didn’t need to be good at math to know that a 100% relationship failure rate precluded any possibility that saying _greetings, Earthling, your tattoos are awesome; please can I touch your cat?_ might turn out okay, just this once.

One compliment always turned into a landslide of new feelings for him. He talked to someone new, he opened up and suddenly his heart was on the floor. Someone always stepped on it, whether it was a pair of stilettos, combat boots, or a tidy set of Oxfords, there would be pain and there would be wallowing.

Stupid wallowing.

 _Just get up and say something, Squidward. Quit sulking,_ Dean said to himself. _What’s the worst that could happen? Maybe they’re already seeing someone. You don’t even have to date them, jeez. Just tell them they’re cute. It’s not weird. Be polite. It’s simple._

Dean checked his watch to see how much time he had to debate his options. Thirty-five minutes. Not long enough.

He gulped, gritting his teeth. The train shot into a tunnel, and the sunlight vanished, overtaken by the electric lights from above. It became so much cooler in the train, and Dean felt a sense of calm descending over him. It would be okay this time, he thought. Just this once it might not be awful.

With a breath filling his lungs, Dean took his jacket and his bag, and he got to his feet. His legs shook, but he edged through the tightly-packed crowd and stood himself in front of the tattooed stranger.

Their head was bowed so Dean didn’t see their face, but they had dark hair, swept to a scruffy forward point, jolting with every movement of the train. A man, Dean first thought. But Dean had been with enough people with open minds to figure out there were more than two genders, and occasionally he could tell when people weren’t quite one thing or another. This person right here was slumped forward, sitting like a man would – knees apart, head down – but they were dressed like a woman.

They wore a black tank top, tight around their wide, boobless chest. A frilly black miniskirt covered the waistband of ragged black skinny-jeans, the hems of which curtailed with combat boots: roughened up, painted with skulls, unlaced and open to the ankles. The stranger looked older than Dean, which Dean found hugely enticing. This was a teenage style, but for a person in their – what, late thirties, early forties? – they wore it so well. Even the red headphones clamped over their ears featured lovehearts on the headband, and Dean thought that was adorable.

Dean stood there, holding his stuff in one hand and gripping a dangling passenger handle with his other hand. He didn’t want to disturb the stranger from their music, or whatever they were listening to. But he wanted so badly to tell them they were doing _something_ right. The train barely felt crowded any more – Dean only had eyes for this beautiful creature.

Dean was definitely a little bit in love. There was no helping him now.

Having finally worked up the courage, Dean did what he could do get the stranger’s attention. He waved towards them, he cleared his throat, muttered an “Excuse me,” and even reached to touch their shoulder, but he was steadfastly ignored.

That ought to have been enough of a hint. Dean wouldn’t much like strangers coming up to _him_ and poking at his shoulder on public transport, even if they had the nicest, most polite compliment in the world lined up for him to hear. He swallowed, accepting this wasn’t his game, and he turned to go back to his seat, expecting it to have been taken already. He patted the cat basket as he turned—

A strong hand grabbed his, and Dean gasped, looking back.

Ferocious blue eyes glared at him, and that hand wouldn’t let him go. “Don’t touch my cat,” the stranger said in the deepest, roughest voice Dean had ever heard.

Only... no, it wasn’t the first time Dean had heard that voice. Nor was it the first time he’d seen those eyes.

“...Cas?” Dean breathed, heart pounding.

The stranger let go of Dean’s hand in shock, pulling off his headphones. “Dean?”

Dean wobbled on his feet, thrown sideways a step by the train’s movement. He grabbed a ceiling handle, swaying on the spot as he stared, and went on staring.

Castiel looked so different like this. The eyeliner was one thing, the black ear studs another – but it was the stubble that did it. Dean had never seen his masseur with stubble before. Tattoos crept to Castiel’s throat, some black, some lavished with rainbows, but he was inked everywhere Dean could see. There was even a small five-pointed star below his left eye.

Dean and Castiel stared for what had to be seven, maybe eight seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Dean took in as much as he possibly could, and when he looked back to Castiel’s eyes, he smiled.

“This is what you never told me last time, isn’t it?” Dean said, breathless. “You were covered head to toe in tat-concealer. You’re a walking _genderfuck_.”

Castiel scoffed, curling a hand protectively around the top of his cat’s carrier. “I’m not anything. I wear what I like, I don’t give a shit what I’m fucking up for everyone else.”

Dean grinned. “Anyone ever tell you it’s hot as hell?”

Castiel’s glare returned with the flashes of sunlight, and Dean was near-blinded by both. “I also don’t give a hoot what you find attractive or otherwise,” Castiel stated.

Dean bit his lip, but despite Castiel’s hostility, he couldn’t keep from smiling. “Take it easy, man,” Dean said gently. “I got no hard feelings about what happened last time. It didn’t work out; no biggie.”

Castiel’s nostrils flared, his teeth gritted. But he gazed at Dean, and perhaps there was something in Dean’s eyes, or maybe it was the warmth of the summer sunlight, but that anger drained away from Castiel. He looked down and he pressed his lips together in an apologetic, forgiving way.

He looked to his left, then picked up the cat carrier and shifted it onto his lap. He tilted his head towards the new space, and muttered, “Sit down.”

Dean fell into the seat when the train jerked, and he sighed, stretching his legs out at an angle and allowing his jacket and bag to slide down to perch on the tops of his boots.

“Wow,” Dean exhaled. “Long time no see. Uh. What’s it been – a year and a half? How’s life treating ya?” Dean looked over at Castiel. His eyes lingered on his neck, seeing a sketchy tattoo of a broken rope wrapped from the nape of his neck to the peak of his Adam’s apple.

“Things are decent,” Castiel said, hugging his cat basket. He turned his head and met Dean’s eyes. “You?”

Dean shrugged. “Good as I could expect, I guess. I’m a full-time firefighter now. Pay’s shit, but it’s fun, and there’s proper health insurance and flexible hours, so I’m doing all right.”

Castiel nodded, head dipping each time. Dean eyed that rope on his neck and noted with some interest that it was made up of stylised words. Dean tilted his head, trying to read them, and Castiel caught him looking.

“What’s this one say?” Dean asked, gesturing a finger towards Castiel’s neck.

Castiel’s hand lifted and he touched his skin, showing off the red, white, and blue glitter polish that sparkled on his fingernails. “Freedom is a length of rope,” he said. He looked at Dean and finished, “And God wants you to hang yourself with it.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Wow. That’s... cheerful.”

“I got that done at a cheerful time of my life, what can I say,” Castiel said blandly, his expression flat. “My oldest one is twenty-three years old,” he added, touching his right hand to his left shoulder, angling his bicep towards Dean. “I did it myself with a sewing needle and a bottle of Indian ink stolen from the school’s art department.”

Dean grimaced – but the tension in his face faded when he saw the tattoo. It was a snake, that one eating its own tail. “That’s incredible,” Dean said, eyes boggling as he turned his head, looking at the raised scars in the speckled light of the sun. “It’s so detailed.”

Castiel looked proud, but he said nothing.

Dean licked his lips. “Ss... so you’re, uh... Look, I gotta ask – am I still meant to be calling you Cas? Or is that your work name?”

“Cas is fine,” Castiel nodded. “Nobody else calls me that, but it’ll do.”

“And you’re still a ‘he’, right?”

Castiel looked perplexed, but he nodded.

“‘Kay,” Dean said. He slid his hands under his thighs, eyes wandering the train car. Nobody else paid them any attention – public transport was thankfully full of people who didn’t give a damn.

Castiel took a slow breath, and Dean looked back at him, expecting him to speak.

Castiel’s eyelashes fluttered low, and he cleared his throat before he glanced over at Dean. “I think I owe you an apology.”

“Hey,” Dean shook his head. “Water under the bridge. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, no, I need to. I thought about it a lot after we had our tryst. At the time I— I was a mess, Dean. I hurt you and I fucked up. I figured things out afterwards... A year after, in fact. It was quite simple once I could put it into words.”

“What words?”

Castiel swallowed, eyes on Dean’s knees as he prepared a statement. “I’m... I was attracted to you. You were not the only person I ever found beautiful, but you were the only person I’d ever wanted to touch that way. I do think I forced it, _trying_ to get myself to touch you. I was certainly more attracted to your aura than anything else. And I liked what you did for me in the end. But halfway through, I realised I didn’t want to touch you back.” He looked up, and he gazed at Dean with a serenity in him similar to that of his cat. “I was very confused. But some people are like that. I very much enjoyed being touched, but the only time I felt any real desire for you in return... i-is when...”

He trailed off, working his mouth closed around his teeth. He turned his head back and looked out of the window, showing off that straight-nosed profile of his.

Dean pressed a tight smile between his lips. “When I’m asleep?” he whispered.

Castiel frowned, but he nodded. “I tried therapy. I can’t change it, it’s hopeless.”

Dean felt a sad, sympathetic warmth in the bottom of his stomach. It took a second, but when his stomach gurgled, he realised that feeling was just hunger.

Castiel’s eyes darted to Dean’s stomach, and he grinned.

Dean sighed and patted his belly, shaking his head. “Two hours waiting for the train, and I never even got a chance to try one of those deep-dish Chicago pizzas while I was there.”

“Oh, you came through Chicago too?” Castiel looked interested. “Where are you headed?”

“Sioux Falls?” Dean wasn’t sure if Castiel had heard of the place, but was surprised when Castiel let out a small cry of amusement.

“I’m headed there too,” Castiel smiled. “A friend from college invited me to his party this evening. I’m hoping I’ll get there in time, I still have a bus to catch once we reach Omaha.”

“Well, hey, maybe we can wait at the bus station together,” Dean said. “Chances are it’s the same bus. What’s your friend’s name? I’ve probably heard of him – me and my brother grew up around Sioux Falls, at our uncle’s place. It’s a small town.”

“Sam,” Castiel said. “Sam Winchester?”

Slowly – very slowly – Dean’s eyes widened and his mouth slid open. “Are you serious?” His eyes searched Castiel’s, back and forth, looking for the joke. “You’re kidding me right now. You’re messin’ me around, are you?”

Castiel had a crumpled frown between his thick eyebrows, his lips parted. “No... No, I’ve known Sam for years. I went back to U.N.H. part-time when I was in my mid-twenties; we took religious history and forensic science together.”

Dean let out a huff through a wide mouth, setting both hands against his forehead as he leaned forward and stared at the grimy plastic floor. “You’re... you’re that fuckin’ _guy_. You’re _Razor_.”

“Razor...” Castiel repeated the nickname. “Nobody’s called me that in years.”

“Since college?” Dean sat back, still wide-eyed. “Dude, I heard, like, five stories a _week_ from Sammy about you. You were that idiot who burned down quarter of the U.N.H. library trying to fix your telescope next to a window in broad daylight. And you wore full drag to your graduation and got wolf-whistled off the stage—” Dean heaved another breath, flopping back so his head hit the glass window. He stared at the ceiling lights, shaking his head. “I blew my brother’s study buddy. _Shit_.”

When Dean looked over at Castiel, Castiel looked vaguely amused, with crow’s feet by his eyes and smile lines bracketing his pink mouth.

“Don’t look at me like that, you dick! Why didn’t you tell me?!” Dean gaped at Castiel, utterly appalled.

Castiel widened his eyes, shrugging boldy. “I didn’t know. They don’t give us surnames at the massage parlour, just first names. Becky typed up your details when you took out a membership, she’s the only one who would’ve known—” Castiel suddenly flinched, his mouth closing as he stared at a distant point on the train. “ _Becky_.”

“What, what’s wrong with Becky?”

“There’s nothing wrong with her,” Castiel said impatiently. “She just has a fantasy in her head that my life and everyone else’s life exists solely for her to mess with. She’s a meddler. She’s met Sam in the past. I assure you, she knew perfectly well whose brother you were, and upon guessing that you and I were likely to get along due to you and Sam sharing genetics, she withheld certain – some might say _vital_ pieces of information that might’ve otherwise deterred you and I from getting together.”

Dean pursed his lips. “That’s kinda convoluted. Why would she do that?”

“Because it was fun, I imagine,” Castiel answered, rolling his eyes. “It wouldn’t be the first time she’s tried setting people up that way.”

Dean hummed a distorted note, scruffing his hand back through his greasy hair. “Whatever,” he uttered. “I’ll take your word for it. Besides, it’s done now. We figured it out too late. What are we gonna do about it?”

Castiel thought for a bit. “Can we be open about what we shared?”

Dean shook his head. “Sammy doesn’t even know I’m bi.”

Castiel frowned. “But... Sam’s such an accepting person.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said, waving a hand. “It’s not like it would be a big thing, me telling him. He’d be fine with it, and I’d probably be more comfortable after. But I just... never figured out how to say it. Besides, if I did, all that would happen is that he’d widen my dating profile filter to include dudes.”

Castiel smirked. “You’re still not dating?”

Dean pressed his lips together noncommittally, shaking his head. “Effort-to-rewards ratio is practically in the negative. I gave up about six months back. What happened with me ‘n you, it’s just been more of the same since then. I throw myself at people, heart and soul, and end up alone.”

Castiel was quiet, but Dean sensed a kind of solidarity in his silence.

Ivor meowed. Smiling, Dean reached for the basket and poked his fingers past the thin bars, grinning when Ivor leaned in and started purring, wiping his cheeks against Dean’s knuckles.

“Still as cute as ever,” Dean mentioned. “Just like his owner.”

“Oh, stop,” Castiel said, but there was a hint of a smile in his words.

Dean’s stomach gurgled again, and he slid his hand out of the cat carrier to pat his stomach. “Christ,” he muttered. “When are we getting off this hell carriage?”

Castiel checked his dainty wristwatch. “Twenty minutes by my watch.” He looked across at Dean, and he smiled. “I’ll buy you a bagel at the station, how does that sound?”

“Bagel?” Dean’s mouth watered at the word alone. “You do that and I might kiss you.”

Castiel seemed taken aback for all of two seconds, but then he bowed his head and laughed. “You do _that_ and I might have to get you a second bagel.” He met Dean’s gaze, his blue eyes sparkling with warmth. “For the sake of it, is all.”

“Right, right, for science,” Dean said playfully. He slowly wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, eyes holding Castiel’s for a good ten seconds. “But, uh... what do we tell Sam then? After a couple of bagel-kisses it’s not some eighteen-month-stale fling, is it? Those bagel-kisses would be as fresh as they come.”

Castiel had a sly look in his eyes when he tilted his head. “How about we don’t tell him at all?”

Dean worried for a moment. But he thought to himself: Castiel wore everything he loved or once loved on his skin; his heart was on his sleeve in the closest possible sense to literally. He was easy to trust like this. If Castiel thought it would be easy to hide their past endeavours from Sam, then Dean believed him.

· · · ♥ · · ·

They couldn’t find bagels at the station. They found packaged sandwiches though, in non-crappy packaging, which was an acceptable equivalent. Castiel gave Dean one sandwich – turkey, cream cheese and cranberry sauce – and took the other vegetarian one for himself. Dean never got to kiss him, because their bus was already waiting in the bay for them to board, and they had to run to catch it.

They spotted empty seats near the back of the bus, and they walked with their heads down until they found two spaces together. A black kid wearing a beanie hat sat in front of them, and two middle-aged Japanese tourists who looked like sisters sat behind them, chatting in rapid speech as they showed each other photos on their cameras.

Dean took the window seat, on the grounds that he got seasick on buses and felt better if he could see outside, but that worked out fine for Castiel, since he needed to put Ivor in the central aisle or else he wouldn’t have room to eat his sandwich.

They shared a few quiet minutes, munching. Afterwards they sighed in relief at bellies now full, and by that time, the bus had begun to move.

Three and a half hours to Sioux Falls. Dean was really, really glad Cas was next to him. They didn’t need to talk much for Dean to be certain: this last slog of the journey was going to be so much better with Castiel’s uplifting company.

“So how come you’re taking the ground route?” Dean asked, petting Ivor through the bars of his basket again, listening to him purr. “You got a plane phobia too?”

“No, I get ear pains,” Castiel said. He leaned all the way back in his seat so Ivor’s basket didn’t squish his full stomach. “I get dizzy and sick on the way up, then the pain is excruciating on the way down. I know my middle ear’s out of whack – those problems come from the neck, like a lot of problems do – I just never found a practitioner who could set it right.”

“What about your sisters? Or Benny?”

Castiel shook his head. “I wouldn’t go to them for help. I’m too stubborn.”

Dean laughed. “I’m president of that club. We don’t exactly make it any easier for ourselves, do we?”

“Speak for yourself,” Castiel muttered. “My life is fine without anyone else trying to help me live it – I prefer to work around problems rather than fix them. Anyway, if I hadn’t taken the ground route, you and I wouldn’t have had the chance to set our story straight before running into Sam at the party.”

“Fair point,” Dean smirked. “Should we just say we met on the train? And say that was our first meeting.”

“Works for me,” Castiel agreed.

And with that, they moved on to more unimportant things. For one hour of their journey they played I-Spy (after forty-six games, Dean insisted it was a draw); for twenty minutes they played Rock-Paper-Scissors. (Dean won, but only because Cas accidentally played what he afterwards dubbed ‘papissors’ on their final game. Dean called it a Vulcan salute, which made Castiel laugh.) For another half-hour they talked about school, and bullies, and the fact that they were still hung up on that crap twenty years on. Topics wavered and wandered, and it wasn’t long before they reached another subject on which they both had something to share.

Dean mentioned the first time he crossdressed – Rhonda Hurley’s bedroom, age nineteen: she made him try on her panties. They were pink, and satiny – and Dean kinda liked it. He told Castiel this, and Castiel went quiet for a bit.

Soon Castiel inhaled, about to speak, and under his breath he confided, “Rachel told me a story once. She was twelve when I was born, so she remembers it better than I do. When this happened I must’ve been... I don’t know, two years old. I recall the same thing, vaguely.”

Dean leaned in, trying to hear Castiel’s quiet words.

Castiel swallowed, then began, “We, um, went out with our mom to get some stuff. Diapers and things. This was the late seventies, so there weren’t many gendered products in the baby aisle. But there was a small clothing section in the store, and I must’ve wandered off... I wasn’t easily reined in, but nobody really worried in those days. But my mom, she started to worry when it was half an hour and they couldn’t find me.”

“Jeez. I’d have a heart attack if that was my kid,” muttered Dean.

Castiel chuckled. “Well, Rachel said they found me in the end. I’d hidden myself in a clothing rack... I wanted to try on a dress. It was far too big for me, but I loved it. It felt so much... easier. Better. I don’t know. It felt good.”

“Your mom didn’t let you buy it, did she?” Dean asked, expecting a no.

“Rachel says no,” Castiel shrugged. “But I don’t remember being told an outright no for anything. I remember having separate parts of my clothes drawer for colourful socks and dark socks. Girl clothes and boy clothes. I’d mix and match.” He smiled, bashful but proud. “I suppose it was a blessing, growing up with a single mother who was raised like the proverbial wild child. My mom watched me go from a little boy to a tween girl to a teenage boy again, and all she cared about was that I washed behind my ears and finished my schoolwork.”

Dean grinned, marvelling that there were parents like that. “When I was twelve, my Dad got mad drunk and kicked me out of his motel,” he said. He could smile about it now, so many years later. “Sammy came with me.”

“Sam told me,” Castiel nodded. “You went to live with your uncle. Not your real uncle – an old friend.”

Dean dragged up another smile, this one sad. “We went on a bus nearly exactly like this one. I was real beat-up... I had a lip swollen twice its normal size, a busted cheek...” He swallowed, letting out a breath. “Life was better at Bobby’s. He fed us three times every day – and I’m tellin’ ya, man, that was weird for the first few weeks. I kept thinking it was gonna stop soon, this was my last meal. After a couple months I realised I’d gotten chubby, but by then the habit had taken hold.”

“Impulse-eating?” Castiel asked.

Dean shrugged. “I guess you could call it that. It was more like... obsession. I was thinking about food constantly. Didn’t drop the weight until my mid-twenties.” Dean blinked a few times, thinking back with an uneasy sense of nostalgia.

When he realised Castiel was still listening, Dean swiped his lips with his tongue, shaking his head. “Uh. Anyway. Bobby, um... He was good. He didn’t make it seem like college was for other people. He didn’t pressure, but he’d – heh – he’d leave brochures around the house, and he’d talk about setting money aside for whatever we needed, education-wise. I didn’t get a scholarship like Sam did later on – it wasn’t that I was stupid, I just didn’t push myself until I was, like, seventeen. But I worked my butt off to get accepted somewhere. Anywhere that would take me. Bobby went and paid for me to apply to every school I wrote to, all across the country, and eventually one wrote back.”

“That’s why you live in New Hampshire.”

“Put roots down and never left,” Dean nodded. “Living near Sam and Charlie is just a bonus. But my college degree ain’t worth too much to me now. Only paid off the debt earlier this year. Since then, all my earnings have got me is money in the bank to last me a few years, that’s it. Firefighting ended up being my dream job.” He tipped his head forward, thoughtful. “Guess that’s what you get for being made to choose your career when you barely know who you are as a person. People change, you know? We don’t always stay creative all our lives, or angry all our lives. We find new interests, and our temperaments shift. It makes no sense to stay at the same job, with the same hobbies. We shouldn’t live our lives drawing off one freakin’ subject we studied when we were closer to being fetuses than we are now.”

Castiel smiled, nodding gently.

Then Dean chuckled, a smile rising helplessly to his face. “You know, I still have you to thank for that. If you hadn’t given me that shitty spiel about wasting my time in a rat cage and not using my hands, I might’ve made floor manager by now.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Castiel said, with incredible sarcasm.

Dean laughed, hair crushing back on the headrest. “If that was your version of ‘you’re welcome’, I’ll take it.”

Castiel tried to act grumpy, but Dean saw his smile.

They were quiet for a while longer.

Castiel watched the view out of the window, but Dean watched Castiel.

Castiel wasn’t a stranger on a train any more. He was a friend again, like a year and a half before. And if the rest of the afternoon went as smoothly as it had gone so far, Dean wouldn’t be surprised if things went a bit further.

Being one to tempt fate, Dean yawned theatrically, then admitted aloud, “Ngh, I’m feelin’ kinda sleepy,” simply to see what Castiel thought. Castiel looked over, knowing precisely why Dean had mentioned such a thing.

“Perhaps it’s forward of me,” Castiel said lowly, “but I highly recommend you take a nap. We still have an hour to go. Once we arrive, you won’t have time to rest before the party this evening.”

“I guess not,” Dean said, in mock consideration. He slid his way closer to Castiel’s bare shoulder, watching him the whole way. When Dean got close enough, Castiel offered himself like a pillow. Dean rested his cheek between the broken noose and the winged tiger, and he smiled to himself as he settled down.

This felt comfortable. It wasn’t just the cushy build of Castiel’s shoulder that made it so: Dean trusted Cas again. Without his disguise, Castiel felt like a different person. The words and actions of his more enigmatic past self made perfect sense to Dean in hindsight. Even the snarkiness was pleasant, since Dean now knew it was meant to come as part of the package from the start, and wasn’t an out-of-place flaw. Like the way Castiel’s history was inked on his skin in angry scratches, his dark, bitter side was just as attractive as the cute, cuddly cartoon parts of him.

Castiel smelled like dirt, sweat, and perfume, and Dean fucking _loved_ it.

· · · ♥ · · ·


	5. The Sum of You and Me

From the Sioux Falls bus station, Dean and Castiel took a cab together, bright-eyed with enthusiasm as they watched the overgrown, dusty grass either side of the road whizz by, blurring into a line of pale yellow beneath a clear blue sky. They pointed out landmarks – the municipal water tank, the Sheriff's station, road signs counting down the miles to go until they reached their destination.

Dean told Cas about that time he ran away from Bobby’s place, and only got to this dry-earthed crossroads before Bobby caught up with him: Dean was already sunburned and dehydrated, as the road was long, and he’d already drunk the water he brought.

“Why did you run?” Castiel asked, stroking Ivor through the bars of his basket.

Dean shrugged. “Why does anyone ever run away? When you’re a teenager it makes more sense to go physically, doesn’t it? Put your life in a bag and take yourself away from what hurts. It’s not that things were bad at Bobby’s, I just wanted something else. I didn’t know what but...” Dean shrugged. “Independence, I guess. Maybe I didn’t like how the kids at school talked to me. Or I thought me leaving would mean more of the resources go towards looking after Sammy. Hell knows. I was back home by the evening and I cried into Bobby’s lap until he sent me to bed.”

Castiel seemed to understand, nodding as he gazed out of the window at the glaring-yellow grassfield planes, watching flocks of corvids flash up and over the tall wheat.

“When you’re older,” Castiel said, contemplatively, “running isn’t so easy. People – we’re seeds. We can be blown by the wind when we’re nothing but particles, but once we put down our roots...” He looked across at Dean and smiled, and the star tattoo under his eye crinkled up. “We find other ways to lose our minds.”

Dean tilted his head curiously.

Castiel licked his lips and patted his forearm. “Needles can be full of ink and they’ll still give the same rush as a drug,” he said. “That’s why I cover them at work. It’s nothing to do with shame. I’m not trying to hide. But I need my mind empty in that room. I need to be a blank canvas for my clients. I become what they need me to be. I’m there for them, to talk about _them_ , not me or my past or my tattoos.”

Dean swallowed that information with ease. “I get it,” he said. “And I get why it was hard for you to come clean at the end. Coming out’s never easy. And I should know, ‘cause I never did it. But I think, you ‘n me? It worked out for the best. We needed that time apart.”

Castiel smiled, holding Dean’s gaze. “Yes.”

Dean smiled slowly, running his tongue across his lower lip. Castiel had such pretty eyes.

The taxicab slowed on the gravel road, and Dean looked out of the window eagerly at the entrance on the left. The cab turned in and cruised underneath the sign that read _Singer Auto Salvage_.

“Uncle Bobby’s scrapyard,” Dean grinned, eyes zipping and snapping about as he watched the piles of cars passing by, most stacked three-four-five up. “Here’s where I learned to climb, shoot guns, drive cars, fix things – tend to wounds...”

“It seems you lived a full life,” Castiel smiled, watching the same thing on the other side of the car. “All I ever shot was a potato gun.”

Dean chuckled, patting Castiel’s frill-covered thigh without looking over. “Bobby’s gonna have you light the fireworks with smoking shotgun barrel tonight, just you wait.”

The taxi driver slowed down in front of Bobby’s boxy blue house, the car’s bumper closing in on two pickup trucks in differing levels of disrepair. Dean’s heart leapt, recognising Ellen’s truck. He craned towards the window while Castiel was busy paying for the taxi, and Dean found himself grinning: Linda Tran’s BMW was also parked under the corrugated iron sun shelter, right next to Charlie’s yellow Beetle.

“It’s a full house tonight,” Dean said cheerfully, reaching for Castiel’s bag once he had his own. “Hey, how much do I owe you for the cab?”

“Nothing,” Castiel said. “Just carry your _own_ bag, try to act like you don’t have an insufferable crush on me, and we’ll call it quits.” With that, he opened the taxi door and climbed out, pulling his skirt down so it covered his ass properly. Dean sighed, then opened the other door and got out.

As soon as Dean closed his door, the taxi reversed, expertly weaving between the stacked cars until it bumped back into the road. Then it swung around, and Dean winced at the flash of sunlight that glanced off its roof when it drove off.

“Hurry up,” Castiel said impatiently, already way ahead with Ivor’s cage in hand. Dean scurried after him, lugging his bag over his shoulder.

Their boots were dusty with white when they got to the porch steps. They climbed up together, making the wood creak under their combined weight.

“Impressive,” Castiel said, pausing on the top step to peer back at the three stories of the house.

Dean smiled proudly. “Big, ain’t it? Feels great to be home.”

They stepped into the shade of the porch with some relief. There, Dean took a moment to admire a few hanging plant pots that hadn’t been there at Christmas: six brass containers shone beautifully in reflected light, all full of pink and purple petunias, which grew with bushy green volume and showed off their vivid colours.

Castiel chuckled as he saw the welcome mat. “ _Go away,_ ” he read. “I take it your uncle doesn’t appreciate Jehovah’s Witnesses.”

“Nothing against them personally,” Dean said, “He’s just not a fan of... people.”

“And yet he organises an Independence Day party?” Castiel smirked, while his forehead furrowed. “What sort of welcome should I be expecting?”

At that moment, the sound of clumping feet approached the door, and a gust of air pulled at Dean and Castiel’s clothes and hair as the door opened and the house inhaled. Sam Winchester stood before them, panting, a great amount of life in his eyes, practically wagging his tail.

“You’re both here!” he cheered, throwing himself over both Dean and Castiel’s shoulders, squeezing the breath out of them. “You’re the last ones here, everyone else is ready—” He stepped back, looking quickly from Dean to Cas and back again. “Wow, you look like crap.”

“We just travelled for two days straight,” Dean grouched, shouldering his backpack and pushing into the house. “Let me take a shower then we’ll talk.”

“No time for that,” Sam said, handing Dean a gun. He turned his head back over his shoulder and yelled, “THEY’RE HERE. PUT YOUR GEAR ON.”

Dean frowned, looking at the gun. “What?”

“Paintball,” Sam said, handing Castiel a second gun. When Dean looked at Sam in confusion, Sam zipped up the pure white overalls he was wearing, then put on a pair of elasticated goggles.

“Sam,” Castiel said, putting Ivor’s basket down. “What’s going on?”

Sam laughed, his teeth showing in a grin as he explained: “Bobby got the whole thing set up. We all get white covers to protect our clothes— Here’s yours.” He dumped a set into Dean’s hands, then Castiel’s hands, making them drop their bags. “Pick a colour and load up your gun; we’ve got refills. Come on! We’re all waiting in the kitchen. We’re doing this in the yard.”

He jogged off, heading through the dark entranceway, past the staircase, and into the living room on the left.

Dean looked over at Castiel. Castiel looked back at Dean.

They both smiled, and once Castiel had retrieved Ivor’s basket, they went together, following Sam.

Dean rushed with delight as he saw his extended family gathered together in the kitchen, yapping and jabbering excitedly about the game that was about to start. They were halfway dressed in their white overalls, guns leaning against their thighs. Bobby was over by the door, his overalls already zipped up, goggles on. His paintball gun lay across his lap, poking out under each armrest of his white-wrapped wheelchair.

“Hey, guys,” Dean said.

A cheer of greeting went up from everyone, and Dean laughed as he was swamped with hugs and hair-ruffles, and even a kiss on the cheek from Ellen.

“Cas,” Dean beamed, looking back at Castiel, who waited awkwardly with Sam, not smiling nearly as much as Sam was. “These are the folks,” Dean said. “Charlie—”

Charlie waved with one hand, pushing her wavy red hair out of her eyes with her other hand. “Hey,” she said. “You’re Razor, right?”

“Castiel,” Castiel said. “But... Razor is fine.”

“Your tattoos are freaking awesome,” Charlie said, eyes roaming Castiel’s skin without pause. “All I’ve got is Princess Leia in her slave-girl bikini straddling a twenty-sided die.”

Castiel burst out laughing, disarmed by Charlie’s easygoing geekiness. Dean was overjoyed.

“That’s Bobby over there,” Dean said, gesturing. “Say hi, Bobby.” Bobby grunted. Dean grinned and went on, “And behind him’s his old friend Rufus Turner.” Dean gestured at the tall, respectfully-nodding figure who skulked in the shadows by Bobby. “Mrs. Tran—” Mrs. Linda Tran raised her eyebrows, which was about as close to a greeting as Cas was ever going to get. “Ellen Harvelle and her daughter Jo – who’s practically my little sister, by the way, like Charlie—”

“Aww,” Charlie said.

Dean grinned. “And this,” he said, patting Kevin’s shoulder, “is Kevin Tran. He only just graduated high school, but everyone here knows he’s gonna be the first Asian president of the United States.”

Castiel chuckled, then bowed his head, eyes locked on Kevin’s. “It’s an honour to meet you, Mr. President.”

Kevin smiled and looked down at his feet, but then gained some confidence and looked back up proudly.

“And you know Sam,” Dean smiled, flicking his fingers towards his brother’s goofy smile. “Tallest of us all.”

“I do indeed know Sam,” Castiel smiled, turning to his friend. “Thank you for inviting me,” he said quietly. “I’ve never been to a party like this.”

“We’re not even started yet,” Sam said. His eyes darted to Dean. “Since you took it upon yourself to do the intros, I take it you two know each other?”

“We took the taxi together,” Dean said, before Castiel could speak. “Met on the train between Creston and the last stop.” Technically it wasn’t a lie, which made it easy to say.

“Nice,” Sam said. “Guess that saves me the trouble of introducing you.” He glanced at Castiel. “Do you want to let your cat out now?”

“Cat?” Jo looked up from where she’d been fiddling with the zipper of her overalls. “You brought a cat?”

Castiel smiled and lifted the basket. “Ivor.”

“Oh my gosh, he’s adorable,” Jo cooed, rushing forward. “Heyy, little guy.” She looked up, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears. “You brought him all the way from New Hampshire in this tiny cage?”

“Unfortunately it was a necessary evil,” Castiel said, setting the cage down. “But it’s about time he was set free.” Jo did the honours, opening up the front. Ivor wasted no time: he shot out like a bullet and trotted right up to the crowd of observers, who chuckled when he started winding between legs, sniffing and bumping himself on every shoe and white overall within touching range.

“He’s going to need to go to the bathroom very soon,” Castiel said. “I let him use the train toilet while we were heading through Ohio but he prefers to go outside.”

“Won’t he wander off?” Ellen asked, picking Ivor up and checking him over. Everyone around her chatted and huddled close, but Dean could see Castiel was only focused on Ivor and whoever touched him.

“He doesn’t walk if he can help it,” Dean said, remembering from so long ago. “His last owner had his paws operated on, so he’s going nowhere. Plus, he’s deaf as a doorpost.”

Castiel caught his eye, and they shared a small smile. Castiel went forward, reaching to get his cat back. “Come on,” he said to Ivor. “I’m sure there’s somewhere outside Uncle Bobby won’t mind you using.”

“Just about anywhere off the trodden path,” Bobby grumbled, shoving a white baseball cap tightly onto his head. “Whole place is practically kitty litter.”

Castiel gave Bobby a grateful look, hugging Ivor as he carried the cat to the door. Sam went over and opened the door for him, and Castiel went out to find a good spot.

As soon as Castiel was out of earshot, the atmosphere in the kitchen changed.

“Mom!” Jo snapped. “Sam told us not to stare – you wouldn’t stop staring!”

“It wasn’t _my_ fault. His eyeliner’s smudged to all heck, I kept imagining wiping it up and putting it on proper. He oughta try winging it out a bit, it could work for his face.”

“So is he a man or a woman?” Mrs. Tran asked, looking expectantly at her son.

“Mrmm,” Kevin said through gritted teeth. “Keep yrrr voice down.”

Charlie leaned against Bobby’s wheelchair and nudged his hat back. “You know, that whole androgynous thing totally works for him. He seems... dreamy. Hey, don’t look at me like that, Bobby, I say it objectively! I’m still gay as hell. Unless he’s a woman, because then.. well, it’s all go.”

“I didn’t know they did tattoos in that many colours,” Rufus said lowly, speaking to nobody in particular.

Sam sighed, shooting Dean a _look_.

“You told them to rein it in, didn’t you?” Dean said to Sam under his breath, leaning close while everyone else discussed Castiel amongst themselves.

“What was I supposed to do?” Sam muttered dolefully. “It’s Razor’s first time with this lot. He always gets questions everywhere he goes; I thought it would be easier for him if there wasn’t so much noise on the same subject.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, scratching at the back of his neck. “Whatever,” he sighed, looking back at the group. “Guys— Guys! Shut up a minute, would you?”

The chatter in the kitchen dipped to a few last-second whispers, then Dean found all eyes on him.

“Look,” Dean said, “Castiel – Razor – whatever you wanna call him. He’s cool. Just... be _cool_. All right?”

Ellen fanned her face with her hand. “Easy for you to say, you’re not squished up under one of these sandwich wraps,” she said. “How about _you_ try gettin’ hot flashes in mid-summer inside an overall and act like your bullshit meter ain’t at a solid zero.”

Dean rubbed at his forehead. “I would if I could, Ellen.”

Ellen smirked. “Put your overalls on, honey. And have a drink, you look parched.”

“Yeah, in a minute,” Dean said. He went to the open door and checked to see where Castiel was. He smiled: he spotted Castiel about twenty feet away, talking encouragingly to Ivor while the cat did his business between a few cracked flower pots.

When Dean ducked back inside, Jo handed him some lemonade. Dean beamed, chucking her under the chin with his knuckles before downing the drink in six swift gulps.

Castiel came back inside carrying Ivor like a baby, belly-up, his face buried in the cat’s tummy fluff. “What a good boy. _What_ a good boy,” he mumbled. His eyes were tight with a smile when he looked up, and Dean bit his lip, grinning at him from across the noisy kitchen.

“Shut your traps!” Bobby shouted, cutting through the babble. “Put your pussycat down, Cat-siel, or whatever your name is, and put your damn overalls on. Unless we get this palaver started we’re not gonna be done by the time the sun hits the horizon, and that means the fireworks will also be late, and I want to be in bed by ten.”

“Ten!” groaned the congregation.

“You heard me: _ten_. That means no late-night caterwauling or... or whatever you people do after ten.”

That brought up a laugh from everyone but Kevin, who also didn’t know.

While Dean put on his overalls, Castiel drank his own share of the lemonade, quietly complimenting Ellen on its perfection. Dean was meant to be paying attention to Sam, who was chatting away to anyone who would listen about the plane journey and Sioux Falls Airfield, but Dean couldn’t keep his eyes off Cas.

Dean was as bad as the others, really, staring and staring. But Dean assured himself he wasn’t staring like everyone else stared. His staring was different. His staring was... special staring.

Ellen’s bullshit meter was still at a solid zero. Dean had his nose flicked like a dog’s. “Owh,” he said, rubbing his nose.

“Eyes on your own overalls,” Ellen said. Dean noticed Cas was taking off his skirt just so he’d fit better in the overalls, but Dean pointedly averted his eyes before Ellen decided another flick was in order.

Dean did up the zipper, and straight away knew what Ellen was complaining about earlier. These suits were like small boilers. “Phew,” Dean puffed, rolling the elastic-wristed sleeves up to his elbows. He plucked at the elastic waistband, then bent down and checked his boots were covered too so they wouldn’t get splashed with paint.

“What colour paint do you want?” Charlie asked. She held a canvas bag full of ammo rounds, which she shook in Dean’s face. “I’m taking orange, don’t pick orange.”

“You got any pink?”

“No!” Jo hurtled up into Dean’s space and grabbed for the bag. “I’m taking pink!”

“Guys, come on, there’s two pinks,” Charlie rolled her eyes. “You’re grown adults – act like it, would you?”

“Dude, we’re playing paintball, there’s no such thing as maturity,” Dean said bluntly, snatching the magenta out of Jo’s hands. He liked the lighter one better, but he tried to be generous, since he’d missed Jo so much. “Here, Jo, you can have the princess pink.”

Jo stalked off, happily holding the paler of the two pinks.

Dean slung the magenta ammo around his shoulders so it crossed his chest in an X, then loaded up his gun with one round. He’d never done this with paint before, but it was pretty straightforward. He held the gun up to his eye, testing the accuracy of the crosshairs.

“Watch it!” Bobby snapped, backing his wheelchair over Dean’s boot. “No test shots in the house or I’m making you sleep on the roof.”

Dean snorted, but he lowered his gun just in case. His toes stopped throbbing after a moment.

After a few minutes spent dashing one-by-one to the toilet, then passing around a tube of sunscreen, everyone was finally all set up. Rufus helped Bobby get his wheelchair out of the kitchen door and down the ramp to the scrapyard outside, and the rest of the troupe followed at a casual, somewhat excitable pace behind.

They got to the dusty opening in the middle of the labyrinth, dwarfed on all sides by car wreckages, the metal bodies invariably without wheels, paint, interiors, or doors. The sun sizzled at Dean’s scalp, and he couldn’t wait to find a shady spot where he could hide, waiting for other people to come past so he could shoot them.

“A’right,” Bobby said, taking his gun in his hands and weighing it up. He looked around, and spotted the wide black canvas side of a totalled truck. “Everyone take aim over there; check your guns are working right.”

They lined up like a firing squad, and grinned when Bobby treated them as such.

“Ready... Take aiiiim! FIRE!”

Nine paintball guns spat out a gelatine pellet each, and all landed with a splatter of colour on the side of the truck.

“Whoo!” Sam shouted, then laughed.

Bobby wheeled out in front of the line and nodded, looking back and forth between the paint splashes and the family. “Take note of whose colour is whose. I’m grey, Rufus is purple— Rufus, why’d you pick purple?”

Rufus shrugged. “I like purple.”

Bobby shook his head and scratched at his beard. “Sam—”

“I’m green.”

“Dean, you’re... what is that, red? Purple?”

“It’s called _magenta_ ,” Jo said. “The prettier pink is my one.”

Bobby blew air up through his bushy grey eyebrows. “Charlie’s orange, Kevin’s black—”

“Like a ninja,” Kevin said, elbowing Dean. “I’m Kevin-freaking-Solo.”

“Linda, you’re pale blue, Ellen’s yellow and Cat— Castit... You with the tattoos, you’re dark blue.”

Castiel cleared his throat. “For the purposes of this game, you may call me Razor.”

“Razor, then,” Bobby said. Dean was sure he saw a small smile on the old guy’s face. “Now, RULES. Pay attention, and no wisecracks, ya hear me? Wear your eye protection at all times. If one of you goes blind I’m not paying for shit. Make sure the elastic goes all the way ‘round your head. Snap it, and if it smarts, it’s on right.” He began wheeling up and down the line, as if marching before soldiers about to go into battle. “No shooting people’s goddamn faces. Shoulders and below. _Do not aim for the nuts_.”

A nervous chuckle rumbled through the assembled troops. Privately, Dean wished he knew where his protective cup was. It was probably somewhere in the house, now he thought about it – he’d left it here after his high school wrestling team disbanded.

Bobby was still going on, and Dean stood to attention to listen: “The winner will be determined _by me_ , upon observation of the colours on our suits, cross-referenced with the amount of ammo we each have left. Anyone who gets paint on the house or any car with a working engine _will_ be deducted points, and will be clearing up the mess themselves. Ya get it?”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Dean said, saluting with two fingers. Everyone else gave a similar response.

“I’m not putting you into teams. It’s every man for himself. And every woman for herself. And whatever else you may identify as, them for themselves too,” Bobby said, with a gritty fire in his eyes. “This-here clearing is home base. Safe haven. _No shooting in this clearing_. Game is over when my timer hits zero.” He lifted a digital watch, his thumb poised over a button. “You have two hours to hunt, shoot, and have yourself a rip-roarin’-good time. When you hear my air horn blastin’, you get your ass back here. Not _one single shot_ after the air horn goes, or you’re disqualified.”

Dean nodded. He was gonna take this game seriously, because it was definitely more fun that way.

“On my mark,” Bobby said. He had the watch in one hand, and his air horn in the other. “Get set.”

Dean bent his knees, hands around his gun, ready to run.

Silence. Heart pounding. Three... two... one...

“GO!” The air horn sounded like a klaxon, Bobby dropped the watch and the air horn onto his lap, grabbed his gun, and everyone was away.

Dean pelted through the maze of cars, overtaking Kevin and Castiel in five seconds flat – he knew this terrain, he knew where he was going. He sprinted for the crane, swinging his gun up over his back on its strap as soon as the crane came into sight. As always, underneath the crane there was a pile of cars stacked six up: the car at the top was the highest vantage point, and from there Dean would be able to see every winding passageway for about two hundred feet, and he’d be able to hear voices echo when they hit the sky.

He climbed with ease, grinning. He remembered this being difficult, back when he was young and heavy and without much brawn. Now he could roll into the empty belly of the car at the top and he wasn’t even out of breath.

The pile of cars creaked and ticked, expanding in the sun. When he shifted his elbows, he felt the pile rocking, but he thought nothing of it – these things were so heavy they were practically cemented down.

It was a few minutes before anyone came into sight, but when Dean saw it was Kevin, he chuckled. “Oh-ho, here we go,” Dean said, scrunching forward like a caterpillar. He lined his gun up with the open side of the car, and he peered through the viewfinder. He could smell the metal of the gun on his hands.

Kevin sauntered along for a bit, then ducked and checked behind him, walking backwards with his gun raised. Nobody came around the corner, so he looked forward again. His black hair ruffled in the slight breeze that channeled between the cars.

Dean wet his lips, aimed... and _fired_.

Kevin yelped as a pellet broke open on his shoulder. He didn’t check what colour it was before raising his gun in Dean’s direction – but he aimed low, not realising Dean was up high. Dean grinned, sinking forward again to aim...

Something stung Dean’s ass, and he shouted. He spun around, eyes watering in pain—

Sam popped up from the other side of the car, a huge, smug grin on his face. His gun was pointed straight at Dean’s chest. “Gotcha.”

“Ha— Haaaa... owwww,” Dean groaned, flopping back. “That fuckin’ _hurt_ , jeeeeezzzz...”

“Do you surrender?”

“Surrender?!” Dean sat up. “Are you kidding, no way. Get outta my car.”

“I’m the one with a gun pointed at your nipple,” Sam said, reasonably. “It’s my car now.”

“So this is how it’s gonna be, is it?” Dean said darkly. “I thought we were brothers.”

“We are,” Sam said. He loaded the gun ready to fire. “Brothers don’t let brothers have the good vantage point.”

Dean gritted his teeth. “Ffff,” he growled. “ _Fine_. Have your stupid car.” He took his gun and slung it over his back, turning to back out of the car the way he came. “I’m throwing a firework in your bed later.”

Sam laughed as Dean descended, knowing Dean wouldn’t do anything of the sort. Whatever brotherly faux pas came to pass during paintball would be contained within the realm of the game, and Dean was sort of glad of it, because he didn’t want to be the one to face Bobby after firework-plus-bedsheets mishaps.

Dean reached the ground and turned around, and got shot in the belly by Kevin.

“Mother _fuck_ er,” Dean hissed, curling forwards. “Why didn’t anyone warn me that a paintball hit feels like a bee sting?”

Kevin cackled and shot Dean again, a fierce glee on his face.

“I get it, I get it!” Dean shouted, one hand out to stop Kevin shooting again. “Don’t kick a man when he’s down!”

“Bobby never said anything about that in the rules,” Kevin said, and shot Dean in the thigh.

A hard splatter of pale blue washed the dirt before Dean, and he looked up to see Linda Tran marching towards them, cocking her gun full of fresh ammo. Dean couldn’t see her eyes behind the goggles but he’d bet anything she was in full lioness mode.

“Christ,” Dean muttered, and despite his pain, he got to his feet and scarpered. Kevin elbowed him in the chest and ran faster – and Dean wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it, but Kevin climbed up a wall of cars in three swift kicks, leapt over the roof of the one at the top, and was gone from sight in a second.

Linda shot Dean in the back.

“OW!” Dean turned around and glared. “Quit it!”

“I think you misunderstand the nature of the game, squirt,” Mrs. Tran said, edging up to Dean with a manic grin on her face. “I’ll give you ten seconds to put some distance between this gun and your ass or I’m lighting you up at close range. And I hear that stings like a bitch.”

Dean wheezed, but didn’t need to be told twice. He picked up his feet and sprinted for the end of the row. He felt paint hit the back of one shoe, and he started dancing to dodge pellets. “That’s not ten seconds! You said ten seconds!”

“Better run faster, squirrel!”

Dean shouted and threw everything he had into running, heading whichever way he could see was open. He went left and right and through the middle of a doorless car, then slid under the chassis of a train, then came up by the archway made of wheels he’d made when he was seventeen. He crawled underneath the first pickup truck he saw and lay on his stomach, forehead down against his hands, panting.

He watched Linda come by in her sensible shoes, padding forward, on the prowl. Dean had a clear shot, but he dared not take it, not wanting to give away his position.

He’d really, really hoped he’d be good at this game. He’d assumed he would be. He was a _firefighter_ , for God’s sake. He dodged flames for a living – dodging bullets shot by amateurs wasn’t so different, right?

It made him grumpy to think that, in a wartime situation, he’d be dead right now. Three, maybe four times. And missing a foot.

When Dean had caught his breath and he was sure the coast was clear, he crawled out from under the car on his elbows. He was gonna beat this game. He was gonna _do this_.

The weight of a shoe pressed down on Dean’s lower back. Dean groaned. “What now?”

“You oughta be paying better attention, boy,” Rufus said in his hard drawl. “You look like you got pissed on by that colourful friend of yours.”

“His name’s _Cas_ ,” Dean said. “And if you’re gonna shoot me, man, at least let me up so I can look you in the eye.”

Rufus lifted his foot, and Dean stood up in one jump, gun in his hands. He pointed it at Rufus’ chest, while Rufus mirrored him reflexively.

Dean glanced about, checking the sunlight. He was at a disadvantage here: one step left and he’d be blinded, one step right and he was exposed to whoever was walking the long corridor between here and the safe haven.

Ah, the clearing! It wasn’t too far from here – Dean could make that in a fifteen-second sprint.

“I see you thinking, boy,” Rufus smirked. “But you ain’t thinkin’ fast _enough_.” With that, he shot once, missing Dean – then he lowered his gun and ran the other way. Dean raised his gun to shoot Rufus’ back but Rufus was already around the corner.

Dean didn’t get one step after him before he heard the sound of a gun loading. There was someone behind him.

“Put your hands in the air and turn around,” Castiel said. “Slowly.”

Dean raised his hands, one fist still gripping his gun. He swallowed, heart in his throat as he turned. Castiel was splattered with several of Linda’s pale blue pellets and two of Sam’s green ones, as well as one of Rufus’ purple capsules, half-exploded on his bicep. Castiel’s gun was aimed straight at Dean’s chest.

“I hate this game,” Dean muttered to himself.

Castiel smirked. “You think _you’re_ doing badly? You should see Bobby; he looks like he rolled out of an advertisement for Skittles. The wheelchair makes him an easy target.”

“I thought Bobby was off-limits,” Dean frowned. “Who even shoots a guy in a wheelchair, that’s just rude.”

“Hm, let’s see. Oh, that would be everyone but you,” Castiel said. “I imagine you’ve been too busy running away.”

“Right, ‘cause I’m a coward,” Dean rolled his eyes. “I don’t know about you but I’m really not into pain-play. If something tries to sting me I head in the other direction.”

Castiel scoffed. His gaze was unwavering, his stare intense. Dean held his eye, hoping he was like a cat, in that he would back down if stared at too much.

Nope. Cas just went on staring, and Dean started to get tingly from how _intense_ it was. Fuck.

Dean needed to do something. He wasn’t about to spend the rest of his precious two hours held up by this pretty-eyed asshat with the sharp jaw and blue orbs of doom and his gun and his stare.

So Dean executed the first plan that came to mind: he yelled “PUDDING!” and shot Castiel in the groin.

Castiel squinted. He flinched. Then he whined and folded up into a little ball, head down on the sand.

“Oh, shit,” Dean laughed, kneeling beside him. “You okay?”

“Neeeeeeeemmmm,” Castiel said.

Dean touched his dirty hair, ruffling it gently. “Sorry, buddy.”

Castiel gasped and rolled over onto his back, writhing about in tiny twitches. After suffering through half a minute of agony, he exhaled and set both hands on his face and sobbed, then sprawled out flat. “I f-feel like you just blew a teeny-tiny c-c-canon-b-ball through me.”

“Yeah,” Dean uttered, running a hand over his mouth, eyes watering in sympathy. He couldn’t stop smiling though, which was probably cruel. “I’ll get you some ice when we’re done. Kiss it better.”

Castiel sniffled, wiping away tears. “I _despise_ you.”

“I know,” Dean said guiltily. “H-How about... you shoot me too?”

Castiel looked up, interested. “Can I?”

Great. Now Dean was regretting this more than just about anything in his entire life. “Sure,” he said, teeth gritted.

Castiel looked enlivened by the prospect, and after panting through another wave of pain, he got to his feet, trembled and fell against the arch of wheels for support.

When he was steady, he raised his gun at Dean again.

Dean flinched twice in quick succession, hands moving protectively over his crotch. “Oh god,” he whispered, and closed his eyes.

Castiel fired – the shot hit Dean’s chest, and he was winded for all of ten seconds. Dean came up gasping, slightly dizzy. “Guh,” he said.

Castiel shot him again, right between the ribs. Dean figured he probably deserved that. But then Cas shot him again in the shoulder, and Dean realised he wasn’t planning a ceasefire.

“Okayokay _okay_ I get it, I get it, stop! Stop!” Dean recoiled as he was shot in the knee. He limped back, raising his gun vaguely at Castiel and shooting when he was half-sure he was aiming the right way.

Castiel hissed. Dean looked over and saw Castiel had been hit in the forearm, and he was shaking out his arm to dissipate the pain. Dean had assumed he was right-handed, but he swapped the gun to his left – and Dean was shot in the belly at close range for the second time today.

“Ow, fuck,” Dean said, and shot Castiel’s belly too.

Castiel shot him back, marching forward. Dean shot Castiel. Castiel shot Dean. They got closer and closer, both their faces becoming tight with pain, jaws gritted, breaths strained. They came within one foot of each other, and both realised at once that the muzzles of their guns were pushed into each other’s hips, and both guns were clicking empty.

Dean shook on his feet, half wanting to cry, half wanting to roar with determination and win this fight with another round. But Castiel was shivering too, and he looked like he was about to fall over.

Dean lowered his gun first. “T-Truce?”

“Truce,” Castiel whispered. He was in so much pain, it showed on his face like grief.

Then Castiel dropped his gun to the dirt and collapsed into Dean’s arms. Dean’s legs went weak and he slid to the ground, arms around Castiel, hauling him close. He embraced him, because he couldn’t think of anything else he could do to ease the pain right now. Castiel groaned and flopped down beside Dean. After a moment, he put his weight on his hands and dragged himself up against the nearest car, leaning his back against it like Dean.

Dean cuddled Castiel close and put a kiss on his forehead. Poor, sweet, wounded thing.

“Fuck you, Dean,” Castiel breathed. “When I can stand up, I’m going to rip your fucking lungs out.”

 _So_ wounded.

Dean nuzzled against Castiel’s cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just wanted so bad not to lose this fight.”

“It’s only a game,” Castiel said dangerously, fingers touching Dean’s chin. “All this over a game?”

“I don’t like to lose,” Dean said with his eyebrows up. He was inches from Castiel’s lips, feeling the heat of the other man’s blood flowing through his skin. They were both sweating, covered in dirt and paint, but Dean couldn’t see Castiel as anything other than gorgeous right now.

Castiel bared his teeth, snapping at Dean, but Dean leaned closer. The tip of his nose ran the length of Castiel’s, and Castiel murmured a soft sound. His fingers were gentle on Dean’s jaw – and that was why Dean didn’t take the more obvious hint and pull away. Cas wanted him closer than he already was.

Castiel licked his lips, breath shaking. Dean felt a smile twitch over his own lips, excited now he knew what was about to happen. After eighteen months, after kindling the flame and promptly letting their relationship go up in smoke, they were finally only a breath away from their first kiss.

Dean let out a tiny sound of want, and Castiel gave him what he asked for.

Their lips connected with a brutal nip. Castiel had no idea what he was doing, and Dean only realised this once he had a tongue between his teeth that wasn’t his own.

“Gmhp— Kmmpss, Cas, hang on...” Dean wiped his mouth against his wrist. He gasped for breath, eyes moving between Castiel’s, back and forth. “You’ve never kissed anyone before, have you?”

Castiel shook his head, surging forward for more.

Dean laughed, keeping Castiel’s mouth back with a press of tender fingers. Castiel kissed at Dean’s fingertips, eyes dark, set on Dean with all sorts of greed shining bright inside.

“Shh,” Dean urged, sinking close. “Go slow. Sh-sh.” His fingers slid from Castiel’s mouth to his cheek, thumb caressing the same spot once he took Castiel’s jaw in hand. “Follow my lead, okay? It’s not all about taking. There’s gotta be give.”

“Uh-huh,” Castiel said, still too eager.

Dean grinned, resting his nose against Castiel’s cheek. “Let me lead.”

Castiel worked his jaw, but he backed down. “If you must.”

Dean sank in, putting a gentle press of lips against Castiel’s open mouth. Dean breathed out, slowly parting their lips as one... Castiel made a soft noise, fingers trembling on either side of Dean’s neck. Dean felt him taking hold of the goggles he wore and pulling them off, releasing a pressure on Dean’s skull which he hadn’t felt until now. With that rush of blood came a rush of kisses, and he tore hungrily at Castiel’s mouth.

Castiel grunted, taking off his own eye protection. His hands grasped Dean’s hair, and Dean let him breach their connection with his tongue. Dean put up with the jabbing and the savage licking for a bit, until Castiel figured out that wasn’t the way to do it and stopped. Dean took over, giving Castiel a taste of his own saliva, tickling the tip of his tongue along the seam of Castiel’s mouth.

Castiel moaned, eyelashes fluttering on Dean’s cheek as they turned their heads. Dean rolled more force into the kiss, all of him swelling with pleasure as he pressed his body close to Castiel’s. There was no space between them; Dean sat in Castiel’s lap, and Castiel clutched Dean to him like they would both fall apart if they separated.

The smell of paint was tart in the air, riding on motes of dust, and along with the smell of saliva and metal and sweat, Dean’s head was full of sensation. His eyes were closed but he didn’t need to see to be overwhelmed. That colour went beyond Castiel’s skin, or the stained fabric of their overalls: Castiel’s taste overshadowed every majestic hue under the sun: there was a second spectrum Dean sensed in his kiss, something glorious that only wild animals could see.

Castiel’s plumage was the prettiest of all the feathered birds. Dean was thoroughly wooed.

“Baahhhhoh my god?” came Sam’s voice.

Dean broke the kiss with a snap and spun around at the waist, wide-eyed. “Wh—?”

Sam’s gun lowered. His mouth hung open.

Dean wiped his lips and stumbled to his feet, holding both hands out to Castiel. Castiel grabbed hold and used Dean to clamber upright, and they clung to each other, staring at Sam.

“You,” Sam said, “You were... kissing.”

“I shot him in the dick,” Dean said, panicking. “I was making him feel better!”

Sam blinked.

Castiel’s breath shook. “Ah... I think... what we should probably say... I mean, what Dean has to tell you, is... No... Uhm.” Dean glanced at him, watching him cover his lips with his fingers turned backwards at the wrist. Castiel sent him a guilty look, no more sure what to say than Dean was.

Sam looked expectant when Dean peered back at him.

Dean worked up a grin out of nowhere. “Surprise!” he cried. “I-I’m... I’m bi.”

He gulped.

Sam closed his eyes up tight. “Um,” he said, then opened his eyes again. “Okay.” He looked from Dean to Castiel, then back again. “O _kay_.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” Sam looked uncomfortable. “I’m gonna... go. We’ll talk about this later.” He took a step and made to leave. “Put your goggles back on. Bobby’s headed this way.” He hesitated, observing Dean and Castiel for one more second, then he darted off and left them behind.

Dean groaned and clutched his head in his hands. “That was _so_ not how I wanted that to go.”

“It’s a good a coming-out as any,” Castiel said firmly, handing Dean his goggles, then his gun. “Quickly, now – I’m in no mood to be pummelled at close range again.”

Dean panicked. “Me neither,” he said. “Be on my team?”

“Team?” Castiel squinted.

“Yeah. I don’t wanna go this alone, do you? Let’s team up. Work together. We refill our guns and we swear not to shoot each other any more.”

Castiel searched Dean’s eyes for the trickery, but found none, as there was none to find. He held out his hand and Dean shook it with some vigor.

“Now let’s run,” Castiel said, and he pulled Dean by the hand and they headed off down the long car-lined corridor towards the central safe haven.

Grey pellets began to smash at their heels, and Dean laughed as he dodged them, pulling Castiel along behind him. They crashed into walls of cars, and almost bumped into Charlie as she hurtled in the opposite direction. As soon as Charlie realised Bobby was on their tail she ran with them, shrieking about wheels being an unfair advantage when on a straight downward slope.

Dean reached the first turning and yanked Castiel into an alcove there, grabbing him around the waist and holding him tight as Bobby shot past, yelling a battle cry as he chased after Charlie.

Castiel and Dean stood together for a while longer, panting in each other’s faces, lips hovering close. They kissed a little, teasing, smooching gently.

Dean grinned, sliding his hand down to grab Castiel’s ass. Castiel squawked, but then laughed, shoving Dean against the car behind him.

Castiel ran off, and Dean gave chase, each of them refilling their guns as they went. Dean raised his gun and shot a figure ahead without knowing who he’d seen, and realised when he came face-to-face with Kevin’s angry Mama that he’d chosen the wrong target.

Castiel laughed and grabbed Dean around the wrist, dragging him into the safe haven. “We’re home, we’re home!” Castiel shouted back at Linda. “You can’t shoot us here.”

Linda lowered her gun and entered the safe haven, looking murderous.

Dean yelped and took Castiel by the front of his overalls, escaping Mrs. Tran and lunging into the next corridor, making their way closer to Bobby’s house.

They came to the part of the scrapyard where the cars were not stacked, just arranged on the grass. Here, Dean felt exposed, but he also knew they had a good view, since anyone but Bobby would be visible over the tops of the cars.

“Here,” Dean said, taking Castiel’s hand and leading him to a battered-up Delorean. He lifted the rusted door and kicked the broken seat back, revealing a rubber flooring mat. “This one’s been here since the late nineties.”

They lay together on their bellies, elbow-to-elbow, the muzzles of their guns pointed outward. They waited for a few minutes in silence, expecting someone to come by at any moment.

But after what had to be five minutes, still nobody came.

Dean sighed. “As much as getting shot hurt, it was more fun in the chaos.”

“Maybe everyone else is hiding in this same field, waiting for _us_ to come by.”

“Mm,” Dean said. He shuffled back, wincing as his skin throbbed all over, particularly in his ass. “God, I’m bruised every which way but loose.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “I thought the phrase was ‘every which way’.”

“Yeah, but _Every Which Way But Loose_ is an Eastwood movie,” Dean said. “Which is better.”

Castiel smirked. “If that’s what you say.”

“It is what I say. So there.” Dean smiled. “I like cowboy movies.”

“I like sci-fi,” Castiel replied.

“ _Star Wars_ or _Star Trek_?” Dean asked.

“Both. And _Stargate_. Among innumerable others. Have you heard of _Firefly_?”

“I fucking love _Firefly_ ,” Dean said, toes curling inside his boots. “Space cowboys, doesn’t get any better than that. Kaylee’s my favourite.”

“River’s mine. I wear a trenchcoat whenever I can get away with it,” Castiel said, words shaped around a smile. “It’s not quite the right brown, but it makes me feel—”

“Badass,” Dean finished. “I have a brown coat in my closet back home, too.” He met Castiel’s eyes, and they shared a sparkling moment. Dean was tight in the chest and smiling so much his face hurt. Castiel seemed to be in awe, but his smile was like Dean’s.

Maybe it was crazy, but all of a sudden Dean wondered if soulmates were a real thing. He felt so... satisfied. Excited. Castiel was amazing. Dean was thrilled that the guy existed at all, let alone was _here_ , lying with Dean inside what could easily have been Doc Brown’s time machine.

Still smiling, Dean went back to watching the field outside.

After another minute left to his thoughts, Dean licked his lips, eyes flicking towards Castiel. “Hey, uh... I’m sorry about the whole... shooting you in the dick... thing.”

Castiel snorted. “You’re not.”

“I am,” Dean insisted. “I’m not kidding.” He paused. “I also wasn’t kidding about kissing it better...”

Castiel looked over.

Dean shrugged. “If you’re up for it, I mean. But if you’re anything as bruised as I am, I’d take an ice pack over a roll in the hay.”

“Nobody said we couldn’t do both,” Castiel said, tilting his head. “I’ve heard ice can be fun to play with.”

Dean bit his lip as he grinned. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that. In the meantime— Two moving targets, ten o’clock.”

Castiel inched closer, and together he and Dean watched with bated breath as Ellen and Jo walked together, guns slung from their hips, looking back and forth, keeping all sides covered.

“They haven’t seen us,” Dean breathed, sinking lower to the bottom of the car. “I say we ambush them.”

“On three?”

Dean nodded. “On three. One. Two...” He readied himself to pull the trigger. “Three!”

Dean shot Ellen first, then Jo, and they both swung their guns on him without a word – but what Dean hadn’t counted on was Castiel actually getting _out_ of the Delorean and ambushing them physically.

“What!” Dean looked beside him and saw Castiel was definitely no longer next to him. “Cas!”

Dean gasped and knelt back, shooting and shooting, hitting anything and everything in range. He saw magenta pellets smashing open across the tall stacks of cars behind Ellen and Jo, and he muttered damnations when he saw one more splash across Castiel’s lower back, but in a matter of seconds, Castiel was lying flat on the ground with his hands over his head, and Ellen and Jo rounded on Dean, covered in copious amounts of Dean’s magenta paint and Castiel’s cobalt blue.

“Shit,” Dean said, realising there was no way out of the Delorean but forward. Like a cornered animal, he lashed out, shooting Jo in the boobs and Ellen in the inner thigh, leaving them to shriek as he got some distance between them. He stopped by Cas and pulled him to his feet, and together they staggered back into the metal jungle.

They went limping, their bodies howling with pain, but Dean couldn’t stop grinning. Castiel held Dean’s hand, and with Dean gripping his gun in his right hand, and Castiel balancing his gun in his left, together they marched, blasting everyone they saw with questionable strategy. Dean was sure Cas had a plan in his head, but Dean didn’t think to ask. He just went where he was dragged, and was decidedly very happy about it.

Castiel had warm hands. Even in the sweltering scrapyard in mid-summer, squished up in a full-body overall, Dean found the body heat comforting.

Time passed quicker and energy flowed differently when Castiel was by Dean’s side. The battle was a battle and not a massacre now: Dean actually felt like he was winning this time. He shot more people than people shot him, at least.

Dean and Castiel stood back-to-back, wearing reckless grins and feeling _powerful_ as their guns flung projectiles at great speed towards Sam, then Kevin, then Linda and Rufus on the other side. They hit Charlie in the legs and Bobby in the shoulder, and the next time they saw Ellen and Jo, they covered them in a perfect mixture of cobalt and magenta and made both women glisten with a plummy purple.

Dean didn’t think he’d had this much fun in years.

Right when nobody was expecting it, Bobby’s air horn blasted through the scrapyard, the sound slamming the air into ripples. Once the echoes fell away, the scrapyard fell silent. Two hours were up: it was over.

Dean led Castiel back to the home base, since Castiel – as it turned out – was apparently completely lost, and had been bullshitting his way through having a plan. (He said that. But Dean didn’t believe him.)

Nine people met in the centre of the scrapyard, all out of breath. Charlie folded forward, while Kevin lay down on his back and stared at the sky. Dean and Castiel took up residence leaning against an old black sedan, heads back on the warm metal. The line of sunlight had moved since they’d last been here, and one golden streak cut sharply at a forty-degree angle, going from the tallest cars down to where Bobby rolled in last.

“All accounted for?” Bobby asked, doing a head count. “Good.”

Dean grinned, taking a proper look at everyone. He had no idea how Bobby was going to determine the winner, given that everyone here was equally splattered in rainbows.

“I’m Kevin-freaking-Solo,” Kevin muttered to himself, shooting finger-guns to the sky. “Yeah, that’s right, I’m Kevin-freaking-Solo. Can’t outrun me, Mom. Pchew!”

“Turn in your ammo belts,” Bobby said, wheeling along the ragged line of participants, hand out to accept what was left of the paintballs. “I’ll be countin’ what’s left.”

Dean slung his belts over Bobby’s arm, doing a quick scan of what Bobby already held. It seemed like Ellen had the most pellets left, but Dean thoughtfully noted that he hadn’t seen yellow spots along the walls of the maze, the way he’d seen green and red and purple spots. That potentially implied Ellen was a good shot and knew how to use her weapon – but it could also mean she was good at hiding and didn’t shoot enough to hit anyone or anything. It was up to Bobby to decide.

Bobby spent a few minutes tallying up the leftovers, then he made everyone stand in a line – up _straight_ , thankyouverymuch – and took notes on who was covered in what. Then he made them turn around so he could see their backsides too.

He then set up a camera on a tripod (where he’d been keeping it, Dean couldn’t say), and he wheeled over for a minute so he was in the shot. He told everyone to smile. Everyone smiled, cheering tiredly. The camera flash went off, and Bobby wheeled back to the camera.

“God, I could do with a drink right now,” Sam uttered, two heads along from Dean.

For a moment, Dean worried he’d driven his brother to alcoholism by making out with Cas in front of him, but then Sam followed up his comment with, “Ellen, is there any lemonade left? I swear, I could drink the whole pitcher in five seconds flat.”

And Dean felt better. Except now he was thinking about lemonade and his tongue felt twelve times drier than it had a minute ago.

“All right, you sorry lot, strip off outside and get your asses into the house,” Bobby said. “I’ll announce the winner later. Rufus, help me get this goddamn overall off. I feel like a monster-truck Tootsie Roll.”

The group traipsed towards the house, all of them limping and dragging their feet. Dean felt a touch on his fingers, and he looked back to see Castiel shuffling up next to him, nonchalantly taking his hand to hold as they walked together.

“Huh,” Bobby said, wheeling along behind them.

Dean looked back over his shoulder. “Got somethin’ to say, old man?”

Bobby glared. “Yeah. There’s a big ol’ spot of green on your ass, barely exploded. That must’ve hurt like hell.”

Dean huffed. “Like you wouldn’t believe. I got Sammy back, though.”

“You shoot his ass?”

“Nah,” Dean smiled. “But I surprised him just as much.”

He sent a sly look Castiel’s way, which became a grin when Castiel smirked.

They went into the house, and Dean poured Castiel the first glass of lemonade. Castiel only took a sip before he handed it back to Dean and poured his own.

“Why’d you give me this?” Dean asked, frowning.

“Because,” Castiel said, sipping his own ice-cold lemonade, then lowering it and pressing it to his crotch, “I broke your heart, and you shot me in the dick. By my count, we’re even now. You don’t owe me anything. You won’t make up for anything by pouring me drinks.”

Dean drank half his glass, thinking about that. He swallowed. “But what if I just wanted to be nice to you?”

“Ah,” Castiel said thoughtfully. “Well,” he tipped his head, “I suppose there’s some room for that. Although, from what I understand, I can’t accept that offer so readily. It can’t be all about take. There has to be some give, too. From both of us, equally.”

Dean smirked, and drained the rest of his drink. “Now _that_ , Cas, is something I can get behind.”

With a satisfied grin, he reached for the second jug of lemonade, and poured himself some more.

· · · ♥ · · ·

Beer was inherently better than lemonade. Sure, the cheap stuff tasted like crap, but it was cold, and once the lemonade ran out, beer hit the spot just fine. Dean liked beer for this reason.

Bobby had an ice cart ready. The ice was meant to be for the drinks, but everyone found it worked excellently for keeping the swelling down on the bruises and welts that appeared on their skin over the next hour. Everyone was in pain, but they laughed about it. To know they’d all wounded each other the same way, wildly, and without restraint... there was something freeing about that. They were in the same boat, and they shared the same sense of gratification, seeing an angry red mark on someone else’s skin that was a twin for a mark saw on their own.

There was nobody in the house who didn’t reek of sweat and dirt, now. They all had greasy hair and bags under their eyes, their makeup was smudged, their skin was flecked with paint and bruises, their clothes were sweat-stained and their stubble was dark, and nobody gave a fuck. They loved each other, gross looks and smells included.

After a couple of drinks, Dean felt like his energy was back up, his inner furnaces chugging hot. He perched high on the back of the couch behind Jo and Rufus, all of them loudly and proudly recounting their paintball game without fully listening to anyone else. Dean could barely get a sentence out before either he or someone else started laughing hysterically, and by the time the sun went down, nearly everyone was collapsed on one surface or another, spread between the kitchen and the library, leaning on walls or sprawled on the floor. Their bellies ached from laughter, but none of them really knew too much about what anyone else had done that day.

Bobby hadn’t announced the winner of the paintball game yet, and while the party got rowdier, the library filled with an ongoing uproar of shouts and laughter and beer-bottle clinks, Bobby got quieter and quieter, studying his notes.

The sky outside was a uniform shade of dark blue by the time Bobby was sure he had his results. He wheeled into the library, steering around the exhausted lump that was Kevin. Bobby cleared his throat, tipping up his signature blue baseball cap. “If I could have ten seconds of your time...”

The group’s giggles gradually faded into huffy chuckles. Dean stretched his legs out, dirty socks pressing into Castiel’s thigh; Castiel hummed a laugh and flopped back on Dean’s legs, headbutting him when Dean kicked him. An empty beer bottle rolled out of Castiel’s hand, tinkling along the wooden floor until it bumped the bookshelf. Dean was pretty sure that had been Castiel’s first and only drink.

Mrs. Tran entered the library behind Ellen, looking sober, but she giggled briefly before schooling a straight expression onto her face again.

Bobby glared until everyone was sitting in one place, then he flicked up a piece of paper so it stood erect in his hand. “The winner of today’s paintball game... Hrrgh.” He smacked his lips, tilting his head down to eye the paper more carefully. “The loser, as it turns out, is yours truly.”

A collective “Aww,” went up from the group, a mixture of laughs and sympathetic noises, but the rumble ended in a hyena giggle from Jo, which set off another chain of titters from people who were far too old and sensible to _titter_.

Bobby cleared his throat with force. “This is solely because none of you have any common decency,” he grumbled, shooting a death glare over the top of his paper. “And given that _I_ am the judge here, and I can’t fuckin’ tell who shot what because y’all showed up lookin’ like deep-fried paint samplers, I’m awarding the winning position to Cat— Cassteel.”

“Castiel,” Dean and Sam said together, amidst laughter and congratulatory cheers.

“Castiel,” Bobby repeated, satisfied he had it right. “ _Cas_ tiel never won one of our games before, and hell, he did a decent job for his first time. Here’s hopin’ a win might encourage him to come back at Christmas.” He winked at Castiel from under the brim of his hat.

A second cheerful, jibing round of applause followed, and Castiel chuckled, ducking his head. Dean kicked him in a friendly way, smiling when Castiel glanced back to see him.

Bobby had a smart twinkle in his eye as he swung his wheelchair away. “Now, it’s almost nine o’clock and time’s a-wastin’, so let’s get this party started, ya idjits. Grab your plate and eat some more grub, or I’ll be boiling up the leftovers in a stew for tomorrow’s breakfast.”

Nobody needed telling twice. Dean was nearly trampled as everyone around him leapt off the couch and stampeded for the kitchen with paper plates at the ready, and as soon as Bobby had elbowed half the group out of the way and taken his own fill, the stragglers swarmed the worktop and pecked up what was left.

Dean took one of the napkins Mrs. Tran had folded into penises, smiling gleefully. By the time he got through the dwindling crowd to the kitchen worktop, the punch bowl had been looted of all fruit chunks, the chicken was gone and the ham rolls were now just rolls.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Castiel said, plucking out some salad from the bowl with the tongs provided. “Do you want any, Dean?”

“I don’t eat green stuff if I can help it,” Dean remarked, taking some beans, bacon, and some sweet bread. “Except green Skittles. And green Gummy Bears.”

“You’re missing out,” Castiel assured him, piling his plate with cheerful-looking lettuce. “Unless I eat this stuff I start to feel sluggish. Given your performance out there today, I have to say, Dean... sluggish isn’t a good look for you.”

“Mm-hm? Salty, are we?” Dean smirked. “Face it, Cas, I did better than nearly everyone out here, in the end. So don’t reduce this to your dieting ideals, buddy. We both know it’s about me, you, and that swollen, _throbbing_ dick of yours.”

Sam cleared his throat. Dean’s eyes shot to his brother, a sudden heat flushing under his skin. Sam had entered the kitchen without Dean noticing, and now he was right _here_.

“For the record, Razor,” Sam said, eyes moving to Castiel, smiling, “Dean’s just spouting bullshit. He eats lettuce. He doesn’t like to admit it, but he does.” Slowly, his eyes moved back to Dean, and they stared in silence for a beat. Then Sam snorted. “That’s true of a few things, actually. There’s plenty of interesting tidbits I know about him, but I just accept that he’ll never say them out loud.”

Dean drew a breath, realisation dawning: Sam had somehow already known he was bisexual. Dean looked down, eyes shifting back and forth along the kitchen worktop.

With a bland smile, Sam muttered, “‘Scuse me,” and reached between Dean and Castiel to get some food. He decorated his plate with meat and beans and snack food like Dean, and salad like Castiel. He took a penis-shaped napkin, and he smiled one last time at Castiel before turning away and heading back to the library to sit with everyone else.

“Huh,” Dean said, bowing his head as he exhaled.

“And there was me thinking you’d never lie to me,” Castiel said, eyebrows up. “And about lettuce, of all things...” He looked pointedly at the food instead of Dean, serving himself some more.

“I, uh.” Dean swallowed. “I don’t like to give away my secret of healthy living, that’s all,” he said lamely.

“Oh, of course, Dean, I understand completely,” Castiel said, with more sarcasm than Dean would’ve liked.

“Shuddup,” Dean huffed. “Never lie to you, though? Where did that idea come from?”

Castiel looked Dean in the eye, his gaze serious this time. “You were honest before. I don’t see any reason you’d be honest then, and change track now.”

Dean gulped. “It didn’t matter then,” he said.

Too honest. He lowered his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Castiel asked quietly.

Dean tried to turn away, but Castiel took his arm. He didn’t pull, or grab – he just touched him.

Dean stayed where he was, face turned halfway back to Castiel, eyes downturned. “I was honest with you when we first met because – as much as I wanted you to be – I didn’t think you’d become a regular part of my life outside of the massage parlour. You listened. So I talked. I didn’t filter myself. But now you’re... real. You’re here with my family – you’re _part_ of my family.”

“So you lie to your family?”

Dean looked up, meeting Castiel’s patient eyes. “The truth is harder to express when you know that people actually care about what you’re saying.”

Castiel finally let his hand slide off Dean’s arm. His fingertips stayed in contact all the way down.

Then, he stepped closer, and he kissed Dean on the cheek. Dean inhaled, overwhelmed by flutters in his heart, sparkles descending all throughout his body. Castiel smiled, pulling back a few inches. His eyes seemed to tease Dean.

“Next time,” Castiel smirked, “find something better to lie about than salad, would you? You’re smart. I’m sure you’ll think of something.” He leaned back, then pulled away with a wink. He smiled to himself as he turned around and slid back into the library.

Dean stared after him, watching his ruffled miniskirt shift around his hips. Castiel went to sit beside Sam, smiling widely as Sam shared some chicken he’d taken too much of, and Castiel accepted it before handing it straight to Ivor, who started to lick it. The group around them cooed and laughed and bantered about other things.

Dean liked what he saw. It was a good picture.

He wondered for a moment what it would be like to have Cas as part of this family forever. These folks had a tendency to pick up strays, and nowadays the family was about as mix-‘n-match as it was possible to get. Family don’t end with blood, Bobby always said.

It was obvious: without Cas there, the picture would be a helluva lot less colourful. Literally.

Given the years-old connection Sam and Cas already had established, if Dean broke his corner of the trust circle and hurt Cas, he’d be ruining the fun for everyone. That meant they had to make this work between them, for all their sake. Not only did they have to get along, but if they were going to kiss and cuddle and do things of that sort, whatever they might be, they had to do more than use each other. They had to _mean_ something to each other.

Dean had to love Castiel. Castiel had to love Dean.

...The thing was, though, they kind of already did.

· · · ♥ · · ·


	6. Explosions in the Dark

“If you idjits don’t get your asses outside in the next ten seconds, there will be _zero_ fireworks. None! Zip! Nada!”

The family laughed and stumbled from the back door of the house, dragging each other by the hands and clothes. The night was still young, the sky a heavy blue, like velvet, cocooning in the warmth the way a blanket did. Colourful stars faded in and out of visibility, their light distorted by the summer dust cloud that always seemed to linger here after dusk.

Sam led the way to the open yard not too far from the house, walking proudly, speaking back over his shoulder, “We’ve dug out the dust pit already, and the fireworks are all set up, I just need a volunteer to help me light them. Someone who can run fast.”

“Oh, me!” Jo said. “Varsity gymnastics, class of ‘03! I could cartwheel outta there if I needed to.”

“You did the fireworks last year,” Kevin complained, hurrying at Sam’s heels. “I say Dean does it, he knows what to do in a fire.”

“Hey, I’m not the only one with some common sense,” Dean said from the back of the troupe, pushing Bobby’s wheelchair over the bumpier parts of the path. “Besides, I wanna watch from the roof. Cas is coming with me, aren’t you, Cas?”

“I say Electric Blue Razor does it,” Ellen said, sneaking a smile over at Castiel. “I’d like to see how he fares around explosives.”

“Ellen,” Sam rolled his eyes. “I didn’t invite him here to be hazed like some teenager.” They came to a halt on a bare part of the yard, which was empty for the purposes of turning cars around – and tonight its purpose was to provide a clear, open space where fireworks could be safely lit. Sam patted his hand on the barrel of fireworks. He looked over at Castiel. “Up to you, Cas – are you up for lighting fireworks?”

Castiel glanced at Ellen, then Bobby, who both looked expectant. “If it’s all the same to you,” Castiel said, “I’d actually like to watch from the roof too...” He looked over at Dean. Dean smiled, feeling warm inside.

“I wouldn’t mind the view from the roof,” Kevin said, leaving his mother’s side and sidling over to Castiel. But Jo caught his hand before he got there, and she gave him a _significant look_. “What?” Kevin whispered.

Jo nodded pointedly towards Dean and Castiel, who had broken apart from the group and stood together a few feet away, both starry-eyed, not paying any attention to anyone else. “The roof is reserved for newlyweds,” Jo smiled. “You go up there and you’ll bear witness to things you will never unsee.”

Kevin’s cheeks darkened in the blue light, and he avoided his mother’s eyes for a while.

Dean’s hand slid into Castiel’s, and with a hopeful tug, he began to lead him back to the house. He had a feeling they were being watched, but he didn’t care. _Let them watch,_ Dean thought. He and Cas looked awesome together. No doubt about it.

“There’s a good view from my old bedroom,” Dean explained, leading Castiel onto the back porch, then through the hallway to the stairs. “The window opens right out onto the second-level overhang, and if you sit out there, you get a perfect view of the yard.”

Dean hurried up the stairs with Castiel in tow, keeping away from the stairlift he’d installed for Bobby years ago. Dean looked back with a grin when they reached for the first landing. “Last time I checked, there’s a bed made up in my room. Bobby never got over the fact me ‘n Sam grew up and moved out, so he keeps it tidy. I always got a home to come back to.”

“I was expecting your Uncle Bobby to be a lot gruffer than he is,” Castiel said, peering in through open doors as Dean led him down the dimly-lit rouge corridor, towards the second staircase. “He clearly has a lot of love for you and Sam.”

“If he didn’t take badly to being called Pops, I’d’ve called him that from the start,” Dean chuckled, walking backwards up the darkened, narrow staircase, moving one slow step at a time. “His dad raised him pretty much the same way me and Sam’s dad raised us – harsh and drunk. But he didn’t let that turn him into the same monster his old man was. Maybe it’s sappy, but I think Bobby helped me grow up to be a better person than I ever thought I could be. He’s a father to all, you know?”

They reached the tiny landing at the top of the staircase, where moonlight shone through an open door at the end. There was another door on the left – Sam’s room – but Dean led Castiel straight through towards his own.

He paused at the doorway. He saw the crappy telescope pointed at the window, and the blue space-age cartoon wallpaper peeling at the seams, the plastic stars on the ceiling still glowing neon green after two-and-a-half decades. He saw the tacked-up posters of Meg Ryan and a baby-faced season one Dr. Sexy among a mashup of random bands Dean had since forgotten about, and he smiled at the memories that came flooding back. But he lingered at the door instead of entering, head lowering.

“Cas?” he said quietly.

Castiel waited at Dean’s side, eyes on Dean’s face. “Yes?”

Dean licked his lips, tilting his face towards Castiel. “If you did come back... If you came back for Christmas. Or Thanksgiving, or for Bobby’s sixty-fifth birthday bash next year...” An anxious frown flittered across Dean’s face, hoping quietly... “Bobby would look after you like he does with us. All of us would. You got another family right here, if you need it. Another home. Friends. And—” He leaned in close and kissed Castiel gently on the lips. “Whatever we are. Whatever this is between us.”

“Sexy friendship,” Castiel smiled against Dean’s mouth.

Dean cackled, nuzzling Castiel’s cheek. “Sexy fuckin’ friendship.”

A flash of red light hit the walls of Dean’s room and a loud bang shook the house a split-second later, and he gasped, startled into action. He ran for the window and set the telescope aside on its tripod, not minding when it toppled over into a stack of dog-eared science tech magazines. He gave the stuck window an upward heave, and it slammed open, letting in a breath of acrid, smoky air.

“C’mon!” Dean grinned back at Castiel, holding out a hand. “You go out first, I’ll help you out.”

Castiel hesitated. “Where’s Ivor?”

“Oh,” Dean glanced out at the the spray of golden sparks that shot up twenty feet in the air, silhouetting Sam’s figure beside eight others. A screech of glee came up from below, and Dean grinned, then looked back at Castiel.

Castiel was already gone.

“Cas?”

Dean darted back inside, leaving the window open.

He got to the doorway of his room and looked down the stairs, hearing the clump of Castiel’s socked feet reaching the bottom.

“I’ll be back in a minute!” Castiel called up. “Get comfortable and I’ll join you!”

Dean tutted, but he went back to the window and leaned out on his hands, filled with childish delight at once when he saw a green rocket shoot up in a slim curve, aimed at the sky. It exploded with a colossal _BANG!_ , showering the ground with sparkling colour. Dean laughed, half-blinded, half-deafened, but glad to be both.

He turned back inside when Castiel entered the room again, Ivor bundled up in his arms.

“Is he scared?” Dean asked, over the boom of another two fireworks, a smash of sound ricocheting through the air.

“It’s times like these it’s lucky he’s deaf and so attached to me,” Castiel said, expertly stepping on his socks to take them off. “Here,” he said, handing Dean his cat. He ducked down to watch the fireworks through the open window, but his hands busied themselves under his skirt, unbuttoning his pants.

“What’re you stripping for?” Dean asked.

“It’s _hot_ ,” Castiel said, tossing his skinny-jeans onto the lino-wood floor, then going first to the window. He clambered out with the ease a cat would have, and he skidded down on the rooftop, steadied by the bottoms of his feet and the backs of his bare thighs. When Dean was sure Castiel wasn’t going to slip, he leaned out and handed over his pet.

Dean’s ears were ringing; the fireworks had stopped for a while, as the current batch was finished. Sam went to put some more into the sand and light them, Jo and Charlie both following behind him to help.

Dean plucked at his t-shirt to loosen its sweatier parts, took off his own socks, then he climbed out after Castiel. They sat huddled together, while Ivor purred in Castiel’s arms. The air reeked of smoke, but Ivor didn’t seem to mind.

Dean felt confident, so he stretched out his arms, wrapping his left one around Castiel’s wide shoulders. Castiel laughed quietly, eyeing Dean in amusement.

Dean smirked back at him, giving him a squeeze.

“All right, get back!” Sam’s shout came from below, and with a laugh, he, Jo and Charlie fled the pit. A sizzle was already starting up, spitting and sparkling brightly. Dean let out a laugh of excitement as the firework began to spin in a wheel, throwing sparks across the yard. Every spark hit the ground and bounced, dissipating into a ghost of colour, then a shadow of smoke. The sound of it frittered and blizzled, while its center shattered lights across the nearest hollowed-out cars, putting all the real stars to shame.

Castiel chuckled when it was done. Dean looked over and saw his eyes still had that firework light contained inside him. The moon was clouded over by smoke but that didn’t keep Castiel from shining; he peered at Dean with such energy that Dean, just for a second, thought he saw an aura. Silver, maybe blue. Whatever it was, it was magnificent.

There was no time for telling Castiel so, however, as the next firework was ready to blow. This one set off a chain of others, inviting feelings of awe as the rockets shot up together, green and red and gold, exploding in three consecutive thunderclaps, _bang-bang-bang_. Cosmic radiance rained down upon Singer Auto Salvage, leaving behind glowing trails of gemstones that disappeared before they hit the ground.

Castiel brought Ivor up close to his face, and Dean watched him smile, eyes crinkled, looking old and young at once in the light of a starburst umbrella, which remained near-silent for seconds after it lit up the world.

The howls and whistles and almighty cracks of the fireworks went on for minutes at a time, pauses in between as Sam rushed to load up more. For a while Dean didn’t care about anything beyond tonight, this moment: his family was here in his view, every one of them cheering and jumping with happiness (save Bobby, who sat quietly and appreciated things the same way Dean did); the joy of this night was inescapable, and the pain in Dean’s skin and all the aches he’d ever felt in his heart were washed away by the knowledge everyone was there, all as temporarily deaf and blind and elated as him. And, when Dean looked to his left, someone very special looked back.

Another set of lights erupted in wild colours, making the house tremble under Dean’s weight, but he couldn’t look at the spectacle, not when Castiel was just as beautiful. _More_ beautiful. More beautiful than _anything_.

Dean leaned in to kiss Castiel, and Castiel met him there first: their kiss began as a soft press, but Castiel surged into it. He knew what he was doing now, and he knew how to thank Dean for a compliment gone unsaid. The taste of food and beer, summer dust and firework smoke passed between their breaths, and Dean let it fill him up, coursing through his awareness like the flashes of coloured lights, which he saw even through closed eyes.

Castiel caressed Dean’s chin, and Dean opened his eyes. Castiel grinned, and he turned Dean’s head, making him look at the fireworks instead.

“We can kiss any time,” Castiel said, nearly shouting over the crackle of a purple aurora dancing across the sky. “But this— This is only tonight. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Dean beamed, his heart swelling with something he could only call euphoria. While Castiel had a good point, he couldn’t have been more wrong. “Only tonight?” Dean asked, leaning in, kissing once at Castiel’s neck. His voice could barely be heard over a glimmering thunderclap, but he felt the huskiness rumble under his skin as he spoke against Castiel’s throat. “For you ‘n me, buddy, tonight’s just the beginning.”

Castiel’s chin nudged Dean’s cheek as they eased around each other so their eyes met. A firework burst in red and gold as they shared a smile and a stare. A special stare.

Castiel looked away first, not wanting to miss the show. Dean grinned and watched too, but didn’t skip the opportunity to snuggle up, resting his chin on Castiel’s shoulder. Together their eyes reflected a smash of random colours, sparkling and exploding before them. Dean listened to the enthusiasm of everyone below, and he carried on smiling.

He smiled until the last firework burst in a deluge of bright blue, trailing out to a faint green before withering into nothingness.

“And that’s a wrap!” Sam shouted. The family applauded, cheering for the show. Dean set his dirty fingers between his lips and whistled, sending a shrill note of appreciation bouncing through their arena.

Castiel laughed, resting his head back on Dean’s forehead. “That was amazing.”

“Yeah?” Dean felt a cuddly desire, and didn’t even try to fight it; he squeezed Castiel around the middle and nuzzled into his neck, breathing in the scent of Castiel’s sweat. “Hmmmm.”

Castiel squirmed, and Dean leant back, realising Ivor was sneezing. Castiel chuckled, and turned at the waist to slide his cat onto the windowsill behind them. Ivor sneezed again, his whole body spasming.

“Doesn’t like the smoke, huh,” Dean muttered, watching Ivor’s face twitch into an awkward, slightly confused expression. Ivor sneezed one last time then jumped down off the sill, presumably going to find somewhere cozy to hang out.

Castiel sighed, looking back to Dean now they were alone. Dean gazed at him through lowered lashes, all manner of pleasures stirring inside him. The way Cas looked at him was wholly gratifying. It was as though Cas saw Dean not only as a sexy friend and a teammate, but... something more. There was reverence there – and perhaps a hint of pride, as if Dean was something he’d conquered. But in a good way. Like a mountain, not a trophy.

Dean let out a warm breath, tilting his head. “I think the others went inside,” he muttered, eyes dipping to Castiel’s lips. “You, uh... wanna go join them? They’ll probably drink until midnight. Bobby included.”

Castiel didn’t leap at the idea, but rather thought about it, eyes drifting to the hills in the distance. Dean didn’t need to look to remember how black silhouettes encircled the blue world out here, framing the stars that began to poke through the sky and twinkle with their frail lights.

“If you don’t wanna do that,” Dean said slowly, “there’s always a fun alternative...” He leant his body against Castiel’s side, sliding his hand... just under his skirt. Castiel’s breath shivered on his lips, eyes catching a shine out of nowhere as he looked up. Dean’s heart beat faster, fingers stretching into Castiel’s warmth, feeling his hairless thighs parting around his fingers.

Dean’s lips dragged open on Castiel’s cheek, breath too hot. Below, unseen, his fingertips found fabric, swollen and weighty with Castiel’s scrotum. With a gentle tug, Dean freed Castiel’s skin to the warmth of summer night air. Castiel made a small sound of interest, feeling Dean probe under the fabric, right hand sliding up to cup his soft flesh, testing the weight of him.

The metal roof juddered under Castiel’s feet as he spread them out, heels dragging. He let Dean put his fingers in the crevasse between his scrotum and his anus, stroking once, gently. Castiel’s eyelids fluttered closed, a tiny smile on his lips.

“You like that,” Dean said under his breath.

“You’re touching me, of course I like it,” Castiel said bluntly. He rolled his hips forward, making Dean’s fingers press into the rise between his legs. “ _H_ ahh...”

Dean chuckled. “Your balls are sweaty.”

“It’s eighty-six degrees out here, you really expect me to be dry?”

Dean grinned, shaking his head. “Nah.” He opened his eyes wide, watching Castiel’s face from up close. “You wanna go inside and do this somewhere more horizontal?”

“Do...? Do what?”

Dean blinked. “Uh, sex? Duh.”

Only then did Castiel seem to register Dean’s intention. “Oh...” His legs closed up slightly.

“You don’t wanna?”

Castiel shook his head. “I do. I think.”

“Just not now.”

A nod. “Maybe after I’ve had a shower. I don’t like the sweat any more than you do.”

“You’d better get on that quick, then, ‘cause there’s nine other people in this house who’ll wanna hose down before they hit the hay.”

Castiel looked back inside Dean’s bedroom, calculating his return to solid flooring. “Help me up.”

Dean set his weight firmly on his heels and held out his hands for Castiel to hold. Castiel wobbled, but he crept up to the window in slow, small steps, feet squeaking on the metal sheeting whenever he slipped. He grabbed the window ledge and clambered in, giving Dean an eyeful of his uncovered balls as he did.

Dean grinned up at him, holding out a hand. “Now me.” He turned and took Castiel’s hand, glad the masseur was so strong. Dean’s legs shook unsteadily as he tried to climb closer to the window, but his feet went on slipping like Castiel’s did. “God-dammit,” he tutted. “I used to be able to leap this in one bound, no hesitation. And I was smaller then.”

“It’s your long legs,” Castiel smiled. “Three small child’s steps would make it easy – two isn’t enough to balance your weight.”

Dean sighed, trying and failing another five times. “If I was rushing with adrenaline I’d do it easy. I’ve done it for work.”

“Would you like me to scare you, get your heartbeat pumping?” Castiel asked, eyebrows raised.

Dean scoffed. “I’m not easily scared, but sure.”

Castiel forcefully flung Dean’s hand away from him, letting go – Dean flailed in automatic reaction, falling – he was _falling_ —

Castiel gripped Dean’s other hand, laughing.

“Fuck!” Dean shouted, head down. His heart was racing, legs shaking more than ever. He looked up, watching Castiel. “For a second I thought you were actually letting me fall.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Castiel said, his laugh petering out to a gentle grin. He took Dean’s weight in both hands and pulled him up, making Dean yelp – his feet were sliding along without him doing anything. He bent his knees and put his weight on the windowsill when he got there, and he fell, tumbling into Castiel’s arms with a shaky laugh.

Castiel bundled Dean close, rolling their weight from side to side. “You’re all right,” he said to Dean, words muffled against his shoulder. Castiel lifted his face, and Dean saw his eyes gleaming with amusement. “On a scale of one to ten, how scared were you?”

Dean chuckled, head down. “Well, I went from zero to ten real fast, then back again. So on average, I’d say... five?”

Castiel kissed Dean on the lips, hands either side of his jaw.

When Castiel pulled away and turned around, Dean smacked his ass. Castiel grinned back over his shoulder, sauntering out of the room. “Where do you keep your bath towels?” he called.

“Down the stairs, ventilated cupboard on the right,” Dean replied. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Don’t be too long – we’re on rainwater tanks, not town water.”

Castiel called up an acknowledgement, and then Dean’s room was left silent.

Dean sighed, feeling buzzed. The beer was still in his system, but this buzz was surely caused by something else entirely. With a wobbly smile, he sat down at the end of his bed, stretching his legs out. He noticed a lump to his side, and looked over to see Ivor bunched up like a cushion. Had it not been for that magical reflective green in one feline eye, Dean would’ve mistaken him for one of those faux-fur blankets Dean had bought when he went through his interior design phase.

Dean looked around his darkened room, wondering why that phase never reflected much in his own space. He’d wallpapered the downstairs hallway in floral red, and he’d dark-varnished every cupboard door – they still looked good, mind; the style aged well – but his bedroom still looked like a twelve-year-old’s. Maybe he’d liked it like this.

Upon consideration, he realised he _still_ liked it like this. It felt homey. Reminders of his youth spent here were comforting to him, given that adulthood took away his sense of firm footing and being grounded somewhere.

Dean lay back on his bed and smiled at the glowing plastic stars, eyes following the constellation of Taurus, then Gemini. He’d only realised when he got to college that not everyone arranged their stars correctly, they just stuck them wherever they liked. Dean was too technical-minded for that. There was an art in accurate science, he liked to think.

He thought about computer chips. More than a year on, he still remembered what it was like to be proud of making a chip functional and beautiful at once. If it hadn’t been for his customers, he would’ve loved that job.

Saving people from fire was different. Nobody tried to stop him mid-rescue and give him a lecture on the _way_ he rescued them, so long as it got done.

Putting out fires, though... That was an art. And a science. A bit of both.

Dean rolled off the bed and knelt by his old telescope, propping it upright before reaching for the magazines underneath. He switched on the angled lamp beside the bed and bent it forward so he could see. He sat back against the bed, reached for the first magazine he found, and he began to read.

When Castiel returned to Dean’s room, he was wet-haired and shiny-cheeked, and he looked a lot happier. His tattoos seemed to glow in their freshness, showing under the straps of a glitzy black racerback tank top and a different ruffled skirt from before, this one red.

“I feel the urge to hug you, dirty you up again,” Dean chuckled, getting to his feet.

“Please don’t,” Castiel said. He threw the towel onto the bed, then bent low and cooed at his cat, ruffling Ivor’s head, headbutting him, then kissing his furry belly.

Dean watched them for a while, feeling unabashedly soppy at the sight. Castiel and Ivor were a pair of cute-ass motherfuckers, and there was no point having them in his room if Dean wasn’t going to appreciate their presence.

Soon enough, though, he sighed on a smile, and decided he ought to shower too. He swiped up the towel Cas had used. It was only slightly damp. “Mind if I borrow this?” he asked. “Once half of the folks downstairs have washed up there won’t be any towels left.”

Castiel nodded, then went right back to burbling sweet noises at his cat, no care to the fact the animal couldn’t hear him. Dean stepped over Castiel where he knelt, resisting the desire to run his hands through his hair. There was roof moss and sweat and all sort of grime on Dean’s hands – and Castiel would probably duck, anyway.

Dean went and had his shower, brushing his teeth right after. (Oh, blissful, _blissful_ cleanliness.) When he came out, he clutched his towel loosely around his waist and listened at the top of the stairs, hearing the party going on without him.

It had to be well after ten already. If Dean knew anything about his family, he could guess that by now, Kevin was asleep on the couch, Jo was downing shots while being cheered on by her mother, and Bobby was psyching himself up to go to bed, thus leaving the party dangerously unattended by real adult supervision. The others were most likely conversing in tired, subdued mutters, or had otherwise pulled out the Pictionary box and were forming teams before the game started.

Dean felt a small desire to go down and socialise again, but his bed called to him. More specifically, the person in the bed called to him. Even without him making a sound, Dean sensed Castiel’s desire to have him close. Okay, perhaps Dean was projecting. But he did very much want to be huddled up in Cas’ arms, even if he missed a good party.

Leaving the rest of his family to have fun by themselves, Dean went to see to the needs of his newest friend. He climbed the second set of stairs and knocked gently on the door to his own bedroom.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel was sitting in the bed, one strap of his tank top loose on his shoulder. He was reading one of Dean’s school science journals, and set it aside when Dean closed the door.

“You brushed your teeth, right?” Dean asked, wondering if he needed to get out a spare toothbrush.

“I did,” Castiel smiled. “I brought a brush with me. And I borrowed your paste. It’s mintier than what I’m used to.” He watched Dean approach the bed, his eyes crinkled in a smile.

The angled lamp shone a cheery yellow across the blue bedspread, and Dean cast a shadow across a rocket flying to a tiny moon when he set his knee down on the mattress. Ivor was nowhere to be seen, which suited Dean perfectly. He crawled up the bed to Castiel’s side, eyes never leaving his.

“You’re trying to seduce me, aren’t you?” Castiel smirked.

“Is it working?” Dean grinned lopsidedly, nosing at Castiel’s bicep. He kissed Castiel’s unicorn tattoo, then the one of Marvin the Martian above it. He smelled sweet, like cinnamon. Dean recognised it as Bobby’s body wash, but the same brand smelled so different on Castiel’s skin than it did on Bobby’s. Dean purred deep as he leaned in and inhaled, feeling a warmth in his core as Castiel stroked his fingers through Dean’s damp hair.

“Oh,” Castiel whispered. “Yup. It’s working.”

Dean looked up, darkness simmering in him. He kissed the soft-skinned crook of Castiel’s elbow, open-mouthed, listening to the crackle of his own saliva as his lips closed. One hand drew back the top sheet, and Castiel helped him push it away. Then Dean shut his eyes, turned his head, and sank his full weight against Castiel’s body.

“Mm,” Castiel sighed, sliding down to the mattress. He was partially plump between his legs – Dean felt his sex pushing his hip as Castiel got comfortable. Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist and wrestled him into an embrace, holding Dean to himself so he could lavish kisses upon his neck, water-softened stubble tingling on Dean’s sensitive skin.

“Ahh,” Dean sighed out, fingers loose in the sheets. He tingled all over, hot one second, cold the next – and sparkly, like a silent firework, brightening up his dark inner skies.

Castiel gripped the muscles of Dean’s back, running the heel of his hand downward, going to grip his ass. Dean laughed, bucking back into Castiel’s hand. “Squeeze harder, why don’t you?”

Castiel bit his lip and spanked Dean, just once, and gently. Dean chuckled and rutted forward, sliding a thigh between Castiel’s. With a slow, excited hum, Dean let a hand trail downward, finding the hem of Castiel’s red skirt, brushing the hairless skin of his thigh. Dean felt a burst of pleasure as he realised Castiel’s legs were waxed, smooth as anything. They weren’t like this last time – Dean remembered once pushing his face into wiry hair, cheeks scratched by a tangle of near-black.

Castiel spread his legs and his breath stuttered, eyes hooded, roaming Dean’s face. His lips shone with fresh saliva, and Dean kissed it off, biting and suckling, just because he could. Castiel sighed, happily allowing Dean to put his hand under his skirt.

Dean grinned against Castiel’s jaw. “You didn’t put any panties on after your shower.”

“I thought it would be somewhat countermanding,” Castiel said, rolling his eyes. “You did imply you wanted to fuck me. Or have you changed your mind?”

“Hey, I never said I wasn’t into wearing panties _while_ we do it,” Dean said. He took hold of the towel he wore and let it slide off the bed and tumble to the floor, revealing his own clean, pink briefs with laced-up sides, corset style. With one hand buried between Castiel’s ass cheeks, he set his other hand into his own briefs and tugged out his penis, sliding his hand along it, thumbing the head to get the blood flowing.

Dean didn’t miss the flicker of hesitance in Castiel’s expression. It was there and gone in a flash, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t something to be worried about.

Dean slowly – almost calculatingly – put his dick back into his underwear. He watched Castiel’s face flicker with what could easily be interpreted as relief. But then Castiel glanced away, disturbed by his own feelings.

“It’s all right,” Dean whispered, shaking his head as he wriggled closer, lying himself on Castiel with his hands either side of his neck. “Cas, it’s fine.”

Castiel blinked a few times, eyes shining with tears as he rolled his eyes up to the head of the bed. “I was so hoping... this time...”

“Don’t force it,” Dean said. He ran his thumbs over Castiel’s throat, feeling him swallow. “Don’t... don’t force it.” Dean set his right cheek down on Castiel’s chest, staring straight ahead at the open window. The privacy curtain drifted at the side of the moon-illuminated rectangle, blustered in a soft breeze. Dean shut his eyes. He tried not to feel disappointment, but he felt it anyway.

Castiel let out a tiny whine, arms squishing Dean tight. Castiel’s face pressed into Dean’s neck, his breath uneven, his brow furrowed. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I know you wanted— You waited so long.”

“Cas,” Dean breathed. He gulped, then rolled to the side, turning his back to the window. He nestled his body up next to Castiel’s, each of them halfway under the sheet. “Listen,” Dean said, kissing Castiel’s chin once. “You and me... we have something. All right? We’d be crazy if we deny that. Call it chemistry, or... y’know, fate. One coincidence after another. But look, I’m a sexual being; you’re not. The world’s not gonna end because we don’t fuck tonight. Or... ever.”

Dean frowned, disliking the thought, but he quickly committed to what he said. He genuinely wanted to make it work with Cas.

Sensing that, Castiel relaxed a bit. He watched Dean for a while, as though trying to make sure this wasn’t a joke, that Dean wasn’t just saying it, he really meant it.

“No hard feelings,” Dean said, then grinned. “Well, there’s one hard feeling, but it’ll go down.”

Castiel laughed, blushing slightly. His grin settled, and he bit his bottom lip, teeth just showing at the top.

Dean leaned in and kissed him – and Castiel kissed back eagerly, breath swaying against Dean’s cheek. Dean murmured in surprise as Castiel rolled on top of him and smooched the breath out of him, tongue diving in, lapping at his lip, nose pressing and nudging and huffing on him.

Dean laughed him away, gasping for air. “Hey, at least you’re into making out.”

“It makes me tingly,” Castiel breathed, his voice husky. “Oh, I just wanna— _Nghmm_.” He grabbed Dean’s face and kissed him hard, groaning into his mouth. His hips bucked down against Dean’s, inviting an intrigued response from Dean’s semi-erection. Castiel came up with his breath ragged, teeth bared. He panted on Dean’s face, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

“I feel the same way,” Dean said jokily, still dazed.

Castiel gave a shy smile this time, and he put a chaste kiss on Dean’s sore lips. “Sorry to use you like this,” Castiel said softly, still catching his breath. “I promise you’re more than a toy to me.”

Dean chuckled. “I think you underestimate how much I love being batted around,” he replied, nipping his teeth at Castiel’s jawline. “But, uh...” Dean pulled back, meeting Castiel’s attentive blue eyes. “If it means anything, I’m... glad. That I’m more than a – whatever.”

Castiel nodded, eyes low. He rolled off Dean and lay at his side, still gazing at his lips. “I don’t know much about relationships. I’ve read plenty and I’ve seen things other people do, but more often than not, what I learn only serves to confuse me. Everyone interacts differently, there’s no set pattern I can see I’m meant to follow.”

“That’s the beauty of it,” Dean said, surging forward, lying an inch from Castiel’s nose. “In our heads it’s all science – A plus B equals C; if I do X then I’ll get Y – but there’s no mathematical formula we can follow to make things work. Making someone feel something for you... something genuine, I mean... that’s art, Cas. Nobody’s got it down pat. Everyone wants to see something different. It’s when people make the picture together that makes it good.” He smiled, thinking about his family, who he could still hear from downstairs. “Sometimes the painting’s a mess. Colours all over the shop. But you step back and suddenly you realise you’ve got a post-impressionist masterpiece on your hands.”

Castiel stared, his attention switching between Dean’s eyes every few seconds. He started to smile. “If building relationships is like art, then I’m a terrible painter.”

“Hm?”

“All I’m good at is reacting to things. Making it up as I go.”

Dean laughed, nosing at Castiel’s lips. “Let’s make it up together, then.” He felt an ongoing blaze of satisfaction, keeping up the metaphor. This was how it went in books and movies, just bouncing off each other with crappy lines like no big deal. Except with Cas, he didn’t seem to mind, or even _notice_ that he and Dean were practically reading off the packet of a well-matured cheese.

Castiel and Dean held their gaze for a minute longer, sharing the warm breaths that collected up on the pillow under their faces. Castiel went on smiling, and Dean still clung to that ineffable sense of optimism, deep, deep inside him.

“Dean?” Castiel said, curiosity in his eyes.

“Mm? What’s up?”

Castiel waited a few seconds before he asked, “When is the right time to tell you how I feel?”

Dean’s eyebrows slid together. “How d’you mean?”

Castiel’s tongue lapped at his lips. His eyes moved down and away from Dean’s, then back. “If, for example, I wanted to tell you... I hope I fall in love with you, someday...” His eyelashes fluttered, a frown crossing his face while Dean’s eyebrows steadily rose, “Wh-When... When would be the appropriate time to say that?”

“Um,” Dean said, trying to steady his breath and his smile, “I think you kind of already said it just then. So, _now_ , I guess.”

Castiel bit his lip anxiously.

Dean started to grin. “If I said it back, can we just act like it’s not a huge thing? Just like, oh, I’m falling in love with you too, Cas – and that’s it? I mean, it _is_ kind of soon.”

Castiel’s lips parted in wonderment.

Dean felt his cheeks heating, but he grinned through it, kissing Castiel gently. “If it’s too soon,” he kissed him again, “then,” one more kiss, “we can say it again later. Y’know, to make up for the premature declaration.”

Castiel nodded, still shy, but he seemed bold and determined again when he met Dean’s eye once more. “How the _fuck_ are we going to explain this to Sam?”

Dean wheezed, shaking his head as he thrust his face into the pillow. “Gdddrnm, I don’t knowww.”

Castiel sighed disdainfully and brought Dean in for a hug. Dean flopped against him, his lips tightly pressed together in a disgruntled expression.

“How about we sleep on it,” Dean muttered. “My eyelids are stinging.”

“As are mine,” Castiel said, not even attempting to stifle a humongous yawn that followed shortly after. Dean caught the yawn and echoed it, hearing his jaw give a satisfying click.

Snuffling, wriggling himself comfortable, Castiel then ran his fingers through Dean’s hair. He bent his head and kissed Dean’s forehead with a smack, and with his cheek pressed to Dean’s skin, in a whisper, he uttered, “Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean smirked, reaching out to switch off the angled lamp. “‘Night,” he said. He put one last kiss on Castiel’s chest, then lay down to sleep with his arms around his lover.

Cas was his lover now. Dean lay awake for a few minutes, thinking about how gratifying it was to have a partner who could comfortably have ‘love’ in the name.

When consciousness eventually escaped Dean, riding away on a hazy blur of summer warmth, the happy feeling stayed right where it was. It had made a home in Dean, and it wasn’t about to go _anywhere_.

· · · ♥ · · ·


	7. Rock Me As I Sleep

Dean had no idea what time it was when he woke up, but his eyelids stuck fast until he blinked hard, and all at once his head was full of daylight. He felt hot air on his face from the open window. The bracing sound of summer wind whistled through the scrapyard outside, pushing at the branches of the nearest full-leafed trees.

Every part of Dean’s body hurt from the paintball yesterday. _Every part_. Dean groaned and rolled onto his back, stretching out his legs. He bumped into a warm body, and he looked over, smiling when he saw Castiel face-down on the pillow, mouth open, snoring gently. The tattoo of a star on his left cheekbone was covered by a red line in his skin, pressed there by a seam in the pillowcase. The line met with the bow of his pink lips, and faded between the forest of dark stubble on his muzzle and jaw.

What a beautiful person he was, Dean thought.

Licking his lips, Dean blinked the sleep out of his eyes and rolled off the bed, dropping his weight to his feet. He pushed himself up to stand, only flinching once, then he circled his shoulders back until he heard the joints click. He yawned as he shuffled out of the bedroom and down the stairs, heading for the bathroom. He’d just be a minute, and then he’d be back.

· · · ♥ · · ·

Castiel woke up too hot. He blinked open one eye, noting with some shock that Dean Winchester was cuddling him in his sleep. The flood of alarm drained away once memories fitted together, and Castiel slowly relaxed again, swallowing down the tartness stuck to his gums.

Dean looked so peaceful. His freckles were bolder than ever, and his skin was beautifully tanned from the summer, though there were bruises from paintball hits on his arms, and the slight redness of sunburn on the bridge of his nose. Castiel wondered if his nose was sore. Whether it was or not didn’t matter: he kissed it anyway.

Dean breathed in his sleep, undisturbed. Castiel felt a joy in that, and he smiled, kissing Dean’s right eyelid. So soft under his lips.

Castiel settled sleepily against Dean’s body, erection pressed to his hip. His bladder was full and it was the morning, so he assured himself that even if Dean _wasn’t_ the most beautiful creature to ever breathe on Castiel’s face, Castiel would still be hard as a rock. It had nothing to do with Dean being asleep.

Except that was too much of an exaggeration. He so rarely got this hard. Castiel bit his lips together and gazed achingly at the ceiling, begging the universe for mercy. He just wanted to go to the bathroom like a normal person and not have to stand under a cold shower before he could do his business.

With a sigh of despair and longing, Castiel curled forward around Dean and gave him a hug, kissing his bare shoulder. He smelled like blankets and love, and Castiel just wanted to rub his face all over him and bite him and _ugh_. He wanted to do something he’d never felt the urge to do before: he wanted to _fuck_.

Squeezing his eyes shut tight, Castiel eased himself out from the sheets, bare feet down on the side away from Dean. He sat up, dizzy for a second. He took deep breaths, looking down at himself. If it weren’t for his ruffled red skirt, he’d have a very different view right now. He could feel his erection crushing part of his skirt to his belly, it was so insistent.

Castiel sucked on his lip, wanting to touch himself. It was the simplest solution, he supposed. He didn’t want to wake Dean for sex, only to lose all desire for him once he was awake.

Castiel looked back at Dean, sure there was no harm in using the sight of him as fuel. Asleep, eyes closed, totally relaxed. Instead of turning to rut against Dean’s skin, Castiel took himself in hand and began to shake his grip, slowly squeezing tighter and tighter until he jerked furiously along his length, snarling in frustration. He grunted and scowled and forced himself to feel pleasure, because this was the only way it was fair.

He glared back at Dean, alive with fire, and—

And he stopped.

There was a note on the nightstand, propped up against a small plastic bottle and a miniature stack of green foils. Curious, Castiel knelt on the bed and stretched over Dean’s sleeping body, accidentally-on-purpose grazing his forearm with a thigh. Castiel picked the note up, and scanned it briefly.

Then he read it again, confused.

Then he picked out each word, one by one, astounded. He turned the paper back and forth, looking for the revelation of a ploy, expecting to see fine print somewhere, but he found nothing. It was just an old receipt.

_Fuck me if you want_ , it said. _Go gentle, I haven’t done this for a while. – Dean x_

Castiel let out a soft breath of disbelief.

_P.S. – DO NOT wake me up._

Castiel sat at the edge of the bed again, nursing his erection with one hand, while the other held the note in trembling fingers. He couldn’t fathom how this could even be real. Was Dean _that_ kind? Or was this something different, was this Dean expressing his desire to try something new and exciting? Was it a kink to him – just a fun game? Or did he understand the unbearable, insatiable waves of desire Castiel felt whenever he heard his sleepy yawn?

Perhaps it didn’t matter. Perhaps Dean’s motives weren’t important, and what _was_ important was knowing he’d given Castiel both his consent and a clear instruction.

Castiel looked back at Dean with a soft gaze, overwhelmed with gratitude. If it wouldn’t ruin the whole deal, he would’ve woken him up just to thank him.

Checking the bedroom door was closed – yes, good – Castiel reached over and put the note back on the nightstand. He hesitated, but touched his fingers to the bottle of lubricant.

He felt guilty for doing this. Even knowing he was allowed now, he still felt like he shouldn’t.

Pre-come dripped onto Dean’s back. Castiel shut his eyes. It was too late, now. It had started. Having seen his hot fluid trickling along Dean’s skin, there was no going back. Castiel _needed_ this.

Castiel shook all over, pulling up his skirt to expose the thick pink flesh of his erection. He wrapped a hand around it and leaned close to Dean, putting the tip of his erection on a freckle.

Breath rushed from Castiel, excitement skyrocketing. He trembled, letting himself thrust once against Dean’s back. Warm, smooth skin skidded under him, and sensation burst in his body, sparkling like pop rocks.

Castiel slung a leg over Dean’s hips, straddling him but not touching him. He set each hand either side of Dean’s head, bowing over him to kiss his neck.

Castiel smiled into the kiss. “Thank you,” he whispered, licking Dean’s skin. “Mm.”

He slid down further, and his breath began to stutter. His erection touched Dean’s thighs, and he sensed they were hairy, slender, and now wet with dots of pre-come.

“Ohh, god,” Castiel moaned quietly, eyelids fluttering. He felt a hot blush in his cheeks, making his eyes water. He allowed his weight to drop another few inches, and his hips to cant upwards, and— “ _Yes_ ,” he sighed. Dean’s ass squashed under Castiel’s scrotum and the hard base of his erection, and the crease between Dean’s buttocks gradually parted to allow a gentle pressure on his anus.

“Mmmnn,” Castiel whined, trying not to move. He tipped his chin up, gasping twice. “ _Fuck_.”

He looked down at the beautiful man under him, hearing him murmur in his sleep. The sound shot to Castiel’s dick, and he smiled, putting his head down so he could bite Dean’s shoulder. Muscle and skin slid under his saliva-wet teeth, and he nosed at the wet part, kissing once, twice, thrice.

“Mmm, you’re so beautiful,” Castiel murmured against Dean’s skin, fingers busy tugging his panties down. “I hope you’re dreaming of something nice... Ah... I’m going to touch you...”

The little voice in his head that usually said _You sick fucker_ only whispered this time. Castiel kissed Dean’s ear, and that voice gave up entirely.

Smiling, at peace, Castiel reached and picked up the lube. He read the instructions on the back, because he hadn’t done this before and he didn’t want to do it wrong. When he was semi-confident he wouldn’t screw up, he separated a single condom packet from the rolled-up chain of them, tore open the foil, and once he’d worked out which way the latex was meant to unroll, he slid the condom in short strokes onto two of his fingers.

He stretched out the latex a bit, then wriggled back in bed so the sheets slid away and he could see Dean’s ass properly. Castiel’s erection gave a leap of interest, wetting the skirt Castiel wore. He decided fabric would make him too hot, so he unbuttoned the skirt and pulled it over his head, taking his tank top with it. Now he was bare from head to toe, his hairless, tattooed skin glistening sweat. He looked down at his erection, pulling it tenderly. He had an odd feeling, as if his tattoos were watching him. But, he supposed, they’d seen him do this to himself a hundred times, and they probably didn’t mind him doing it with a real person, especially given how he felt about Dean. He figured his tattoos knew more about him than he knew about himself.

Castiel carefully squeezed some lube onto the condom on his fingers, and he lay down against Dean, weight on his right side so his covered left hand could nudge comfortably against Dean’s anus. Castiel watched Dean’s face rather than his fingers, seeing Dean’s eyelids twitch as his hole opened up around Castiel.

Castiel kissed Dean’s shoulder, unable to look away from his face. Dean was very obviously asleep, not faking or anywhere close to waking up. Castiel could barely believe his fingers were inside him while he slept. Warm, tight flesh kept his fingers together, stretching as he pushed.

Castiel breathed unsteadily, rocking his erection on Dean’s pulled-down panties, gasping at the blissful texture that the corsetry at the sides provided. Fabric soaked up a little pre-come, making it slimy at first before the fluid sank in. Castiel grunted, eyes falling closed; his fingers were all the way inside now, and Dean’s hole was relaxed around him. There’d been none of the shivers or random automatic clenches that Castiel would’ve expected. This was a spectacular thing to be doing, he thought. Was it selfish? Perhaps. But he didn’t want to think about himself, he wanted to think about Dean.

Castiel lay quietly and enjoyed the pressure, sinking his fingers deep and stretching them out slowly, circling Dean’s rim in an exploratory way. Castiel was still tired, and despite the adrenaline rush, he allowed his eyes to close, and he dozed happily while he worked Dean open in a thoughtless rhythm.

It must’ve been five minutes before Castiel peeked open his eyes again, watching Dean’s face. It seemed incredible that he hadn’t woken – but the lubricant was slick and Castiel’s fingers were undemanding, so perhaps Dean couldn’t feel the intrusion at all.

Testing that theory, Castiel pulled his fingers out, and put a third finger inside the condom, determined not to look at the latex while he did so. The reason he wore a condom on his fingers had nothing to do with STDs and everything to do with his fingers being inside Dean’s rectum, the main purpose of which was not for sex. Thus, in the best interests of his arousal, Castiel was not going to look.

Dean took a third finger as easily as he’d taken two, which led Castiel to think anal sex might not be a painful a process as popular accounts made it out to be. But, not being one to tempt a painful experience, Castiel went as slowly as he had before, letting the muscles around his fingers glide easily and softly around his knuckles.

For what it was worth, Castiel was pleased by what he was doing now. He wasn’t as hard as he’d been before, but emotionally, he felt closer to Dean. This was a manner of intimacy Castiel could appreciate. Even if he were to stop now, going no further, he would not be left feeling disappointed.

But he went on, slowly – ever so slowly – adding a fourth finger and a blob of fresh lube, warmed in his hand. He wanted to see what would happen if he sank inside Dean for real, if he enjoyed a pleasure as visceral as penetration. Castiel wanted that experience. It only seemed perfect that he had the chance to do it with Dean Winchester, unconscious.

Castiel twisted and pushed his fingers into Dean then pulled almost all the way out. He breathed against Dean’s cheek and gave him loving kisses, while every fresh rush of endorphins inside him put a smile on his face. Dean was never as gorgeous as he was now. While Castiel thought he was imagining it, he was convinced for a while that Dean’s lips were plump with arousal and his cheeks were pinkened. But he was still fast asleep, as strange as it was. There was no way Castiel himself would have been able to sleep though something like this.

When Castiel thought Dean was ready – or, at least, when Castiel’s fingers got tired and he didn’t think there was much more stretching to be done – he slid his fingers into the cold, open air and turned the condom inside out. It was sweaty on the inside, but at least it was clean. Castiel let it drop to the floor, and he reached for a fresh one.

He held the packet in his hand, and rolled himself over, aligning his body behind Dean’s. Dean’s sleeping position was awkward; as a masseur, Castiel would never have allowed anything to happen while a client lay face-down, twisted to the right, arms at odd angles either side of his torso. But it couldn’t be changed easily, so Castiel set it out of his mind. He wouldn’t hurt or strain Dean in any way if he could help it.

Castiel worked his erection stiff, but before it was fully hard, he opened up the second condom packet and rolled the covering onto himself. He grinned – he’d got it right first time.

He tossed the empty packet on the floor and reached for the lube, applying it liberally over the head and down the shaft of his penis. It went on cold, and he clenched up his toes in reaction, but it soon warmed from the absolute heat of his erection, blood roaring under his skin.

This was it. He was going to be physically inside Dean while Dean had no idea Castiel was there, and it was so horrifyingly arousing to Castiel that he began to shake again. He huffed on Dean’s shoulders and stroked his hair, pleading with him in his thoughts, praying he was _sure_ he wanted Castiel to do this with him asleep.

Head bowed, Castiel lowered his eyes to Dean’s open hole and the tip of his erection, which slipped vaguely about the mark, unable to go inside. Castiel reached down to guide it, and with a cry of astonished pleasure, he felt the tip slide right in.

“Oh...” Castiel stared at the back of Dean’s head, overwhelmed. Dean’s body was hotter than he’d ever felt around Castiel’s fingers, hotter than his mouth. No wonder doctors took temperatures this way. This was the heat of the human body; this was how Dean’s blood felt around Castiel’s blood. They were incendiary together, right in the place where their skin met, where Castiel’s navel pushed to Dean’s lower back, his thighs to Dean’s, his scrotum to Dean’s perineum.

An eighty-six degree summer in Sioux Falls was nothing. This was what _heat_ felt like.

“ _Ohh,_ ” Castiel sighed out, biting his lip as he went deep. His belly pressed flush against Dean’s spine now, both hands gripping Dean’s waist, slick with a nervous sweat. Castiel felt _whole_ , and _hungry_ , and like he was truly and remarkably _full_.

With a shaky laugh, Castiel pulled back and thrust forth, gasping once he reached the deepest point of penetration. His wide eyes settled on the rockets on the wallpaper ahead, and he grinned, feeling that same fiery blast from his engines, pushing him an inch further in. He was a red rocket; Dean was an uncharted planet. Stars twinkled all about them as Castiel made his descent.

With a blissed-out frown, unsure how to process how _good_ this felt, Castiel bent low and kissed Dean’s neck, smooching and nibbling. He pushed deep inside, not really pulling back any more. He drove deeper in increments, bounced back a short way when the fat of Dean’s ass resisted his push. Castiel lay atop him and humped against him, trying a new rhythm.

Dean hummed in his sleep, squirming back against the sheets. His spine straightened out, and Castiel gave a sigh of relief, glad there wasn’t going to be a muscular ache to deal with later. Castiel purred a note of pleasure, loving that Dean just slept on, so convinced of his trust in Castiel that it didn’t matter what Castiel was doing to him. Perhaps he felt himself being opened up, perhaps he didn’t, but part of his subconscious obviously didn’t need reminding of Castiel’s presence in this bed. Long had Castiel known that nearly everything in the human body came down to mind over matter; if Dean knew deep down he was safe, and he was meant to stay asleep, then dreams would keep him under.

Castiel just hoped they were good dreams.

Putting kisses on Dean’s shoulder, Castiel wrapped his arms under Dean’s biceps, wrists crossing under Dean’s throat. He held him close and pushed into him over and over, while Castiel’s toes stretched through the bedsheets and his sweat evaporated into the air.

Castiel moaned gently, nuzzling at Dean’s back. “Hmmmyeaahh,” he purred. He wanted to say more tender things, wanted to admit love or give compliments he’d never say to Dean awake, but he wasn’t sure he did love Dean completely just yet, although he did feel very strongly about him. And a compliment may as well have fallen on deaf ears. However, Castiel did manage to let out a vague utter of, “Ssso beautiful. So beautiful,” before he had to gasp for breath.

Dean gave a slow mewl, muscles straining in a stretch. He relaxed again, a smile on his lips. Castiel kissed those lips, delighted when they were completely unresponsive. He grunted and put a renewed effort into fucking Dean, teeth nipping at his red mouth, feeling powerful and cruel and so gentle. This was without a doubt the worst and best thing Castiel had done in his life, and he still didn’t know if it was wrong.

It felt right.

Anyone but Dean would’ve told Castiel he was sick in the head, wanting this. He enjoyed it more because Dean was limp, just lying there and taking it with not even a twitch. Dean couldn’t ask for anything like this, he didn’t speak or make a noise. It was like he wasn’t even there. He was only a vessel, existing for Castiel’s pleasure alone, to be filled up with his sex and used like a toy; he was in want of nothing.

But to Castiel this felt like paradise. To finally be able to show sexual affection for someone he liked as a person, and to have it be consensual, it was a dream come true for him. This wasn’t about taking away Dean’s wants or desires, or making him any less of a person. In fact, it was the opposite. Castiel smiled as he sank deep again, giving a quick buck or two in his excitement. Knowing... _Knowing_ that Dean was the one who asked for this, and offered himself—

Castiel still couldn’t believe it.

He groaned low and cuddled Dean tight, squeezing his thighs between his own. Beautiful man, beautiful act. What they shared this morning would be something Castiel would always remember.

Dean’s breath stuttered, and Castiel kissed him gently, soothing him back to sleep. “Shh, shh, sweet thing,” Castiel uttered, sure he’d become delirious with pleasure. “Just sleep, Dean... Oh, you’re gorgeous. Shhhit...”

Dean’s ass pushed back into Castiel’s cock, and Castiel laughed breathily, gripping the pads of fat over Dean’s hips with one hand. “ _Augh_ ,” Castiel coughed out, torso rolling from the hips as he started thrusting in earnest, loving when his torso was up and his hips were down. It was animalistic in a way, and the pressure of it drove him crazy.

“Fuck... _fuck_ ,” Castiel grunted out, wanting to go faster, but not daring to in case he woke Dean. He just wanted to get all the way inside him, to rock him so hard their skin stuck fast, not a breath of air between them, no space to separate their heartbeats.

Dean’s aura was slowly brightening up, which at first Castiel thought was because of his own heightened senses: every light seemed brighter in his eyes, the air on his skin stung him in his oversensitivity – but he was wrong. Dean was brighter for another reason entirely.

· · · ♥ · · ·

Dean tried desperately not to cry out, not to show the pleasure he felt core-deep. He had to lie still, he couldn’t buck into Castiel’s rhythmic pressure, he couldn’t squirm like he wanted to. He had to carry on pretending to sleep, because he didn’t want Cas to figure out he’d woken up part-way through.

God, it was hot. A thrill intoxicated Dean; his heart thumped in a heavy drumbeat, and although every instinct would have him tense up and writhe in the sheets because of how it felt to be penetrated in the desperate, gentle way Castiel did it, remaining still and acting aloof was impossibly arousing.

Dean had never been fucked like this before. He’d always been tight, and he’d always liked it tight. But Cas had loosened him up so absolutely that Dean felt his erection simply _sliding_ inside him – and of course it helped that Dean was forcing himself to stay relaxed, the way he would be if he were still asleep. There was something hugely exciting about being perceived as giving everything he had, but not actively giving _anything_. For now, he existed for Cas’ pleasure alone, and that thought – that whole _idea_ made him wet the sheets with pre-ejaculate, made him sweat and made him boil with his own forcibly-contained pleasure.

For a time, he belonged to Cas. He’d never really _belonged_ before. It was an incredible emotion to feel.

He wanted to moan, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t let himself. He wanted to smile, but at the same time, he wanted to carry on being expressionless.

Castiel legitimately thought Dean was asleep, unaware, and was _turned on_ by that. Part of Dean was sickened by the knowledge, but he kept putting that part aside, wanting instead to pay attention to the part that loved it. This was a sick, filthy, _beautiful_ game they were playing.

Castiel gasped, starting to fuck upward, one hand gripping Dean’s hip, one holding down his panties so the fabric didn’t chafe skin. Dean saw in his mind’s eye what was happening down there; his hole filled up in hard thumps; his pink, creaseless rim stretched out by those swift, sweeping motions of Castiel’s slick erection. The best part was imagining how and why Cas held the panties down – like this was a quick thing, a spur-of-the-moment sex act he decided to engage in. Like he just rolled over in bed and pulled down Dean’s panties to fuck him, without bothering to wake him up first. Dean bit his lip, trying with all his might not to moan, not to move his fingers and tug on the loose sheets.

Fuck. _Fuck_. Dean’s head was full of his own unreleased grunts, his gasps, his cries of affection and delight. He wished he could see Cas’ face, wished he could see what he thought of all this beyond the quiet cries of pleasure that slipped from his lips.

Castiel whimpered, suddenly filling Dean wholly and _staying_ there, pressed too deep, their heat combined in a furnace of unholy touch. Dean groaned under his breath, unable to help himself.

Castiel shook to a firmer halt, both hands pushing on Dean’s waist. Dean tensed too, but he could feel Castiel’s breath and his heartbeat pressed close against his back. Castiel had paused to listen.

Castiel’s breath escaped him. “You’re awake.”

Dean pretended not to hear.

“Dean...” Castiel settled lower, his cock sliding back a couple of inches, putting an unexpected stretch into the most sensitive part of Dean’s rim and making him tingle. “Dean,” Castiel said again, a smile around his name. “I know you’re not sleeping.”

After a few seconds of stubborn silence, Castiel rested his sweaty forehead on Dean’s shoulder blade. “I, uh... I think...” Castiel gulped. “I think I want to finish. With you awake. I’m already inside you, Dean, and I’m close. We’ve gotten this far, I doubt I have any reason to... freak out on you.”

Dean parted his lips, slowly opening his eyes. “Uh...mm.” His voice crackled. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Castiel smiled, tipping his head up and kissing Dean’s nose from the side. “How long have you been awake?”

Dean narrowed one eye, smirking awkwardly. “When I changed position so my back wasn’t all screwed up?”

Castiel baulked. “That long?!”

Dean bit hard on his lower lip, flushing pink, eyelids falling shut; he bucked against Castiel, forcing his erection deeper inside. “I just— _Ah_.” Dean breathed unsteadily, fingers curling into the cotton on his pillowcase. “I wanted it to be good for you.”

“It was.” Castiel sank slowly inside, back out, then in again. “It _is_.”

“I-I kept... I kept making noises by accident,” Dean said, trembling. “Feels good, Cas. Like, _ouh_ , oh my god, go deeper. Push harder, please...”

Castiel did as Dean asked, but Dean sensed his reluctance.

“Do you want me to shut up?” Dean asked, grinning. “I can pretend I’m asleep again, if you want. I mean, it was kinda hot. Like – making sure I didn’t move or make noises, that was totally a turn-on for me.”

“I— I’m not sure,” Castiel sighed. He grunted as he slid his way all the way inside Dean, putting his weight on his hands, palms on Dean’s lower back. He massaged that part of Dean’s back while he was at it, unable to resist.

“Cas?” Dean asked, when Castiel didn’t say anything else.

“Hmm?” Castiel replied, kissing the back of Dean’s neck.

“Can—” Dean’s voice cracked. “Would you be up for... I mean, you’re new to this, maybe you wouldn’t...”

“Dean,” Castiel whispered, “If there’s something you want, please tell me.” He nuzzled Dean’s shoulder after he spoke, brushing stubble on his skin. “I’d be okay reciprocating, I think. So long as I can stay inside you. I like how this feels.”

Dean grinned into his pillow, turning his hips back so Castiel sank deeper again. “I— I wanna ride you.”

Castiel slowed, apparently startled by those words. “Like a horse?”

Dean chuckled. “You lie on your back and I sit on your dick. And we rock like that. Slow or fast, however you want it.”

Castiel’s breath shuddered over Dean’s shoulder. “Ah— All right.”

“Yeah?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

Castiel nodded, tangled hair tickling on Dean’s skin. He put a soft, sticky kiss on Dean’s bicep, then gently slid himself out of Dean’s ass.

Dean whimpered as he was left empty; without Castiel’s heat he was cold, and without his stubborn push he was left reeling with inertia. Quickly, Dean flipped over, grunting in relief as his erection finally flopped up to hit his belly. The tip was dry, as every trickle of pre-come had been soaked up by the bedsheets.

Dean was surprised by Castiel’s hot hand, fingers pressing interestedly to the base of his erection. Castiel breathed open-mouthed on Dean’s chest, eyes down to see Dean’s raised veins, watching his own fingers trace the blue rivers over the swollen plane of dusky red skin.

Castiel’s eyelashes flicked up, and Dean met his gaze – Castiel’s eyes shone a punishing blue, like a stormy summer sky. Castiel smiled, eyes dipping low for a moment to take in the sight of Dean’s plump lips, which Dean parted on instinct, aching for a long-awaited kiss.

Castiel leaned in, eyes closed as he put a chaste kiss on Dean’s mouth, breathing in slowly. Dean purred, half because of the kiss, half because Castiel had wrapped his hand around Dean’s erection and was keeping it warm in his palm. He was as good at holding Dean’s dick as he was at massaging; his hands felt magical. It didn’t seem to matter _what_ he did; his touch was exquisite.

Dean smooched Castiel a little more, then broke away, smiling. “If I’m gonna ride you, you gotta lie back.”

“I was getting to it,” Castiel said testily, kissing Dean once more. “I have a question,” he added, as he rolled onto his back, setting his hands behind his head. “If you were awake, aware of what I was doing... How was it?”

“Good,” Dean said, wriggling his panties off and flinging them from his foot, then climbing straight onto Castiel’s middle. He licked his lips as he patted around behind him, searching for Castiel’s erection. “Like... your noises weren’t monotonous grunts, for one thing.” Dean gripped Castiel’s slippery penis by the base, angling it up to touch his anus. With a small wince and a big sigh, Dean sank down, ignoring the noise that squeezed from his ass, which was absolutely not a fart. “Fuck.”

Castiel shut his eyes, mouth smiling and open. Dean watched him, satisfied that he was overwhelmed in a positive way. Dean grinned as he bit his lower lip, and he bobbed up and down, keeping his movements steady. His thighs shook, holding up his weight over the heels of his feet.

When Castiel got used to the feeling, Dean made himself comfortable, sitting properly on top of Castiel, thighs more spread out. Dean’s hole was now fully relaxed around Cas’ dick, a sensation which provided satisfaction, not pain; Castiel’s erection had been sheathed inside him, perfectly snug, buried right to the hilt.

“Variation,” Dean went on, starting up a tiny forward-hump, barely rocking at all. “Variation is what makes sex interesting. You keep doing the same movement over and over, it doesn’t only get boring, you get sore. You know?”

Castiel chuckled, gazing up at Dean appreciatively.

Dean hit a good spot, and he moaned on a breath, eyes slipping closed. “Fuck yeah.”

Castiel took his hands out from behind his head, and he reached to hold Dean’s waist, thumbs in the dips of muscle below his hip bones. He rubbed his thumbs there, and Dean squirmed, breath wild for a moment as fluttery sensations flooded his hips, where his skin was sensitive.

“Bounce,” Castiel instructed.

Dean chuckled and bumped his hips up once, twice. Castiel shivered, his breath escaping him in a satisfied sigh. “Again – more. More, more, more,” he said, humping at Dean.

Dean shuffled forward a bit, putting his hands on Castiel’s chest, one on the leopard tattoo over his heart, one on his collarbone. He began to rock his hips, back and forth, back and forth, mouth open in a silent shout of delight.

Castiel growled, eyes tight shut. “That’s good,” he muttered. “It— Oh, it’s so different when you’re the one moving.”

“How about this?” Dean asked, tilting his chin up, looking down at Cas through narrowed eyes. He began moving his hips like he was fucking – _only_ moving his hips, keeping the rest of him still. Gentle, eager thrusts. His body scooted atop Castiel’s, his shoulders steady and his thighs tense, his pelvis driving Cas crazy at a slick, casual pace.

Castiel moaned, hands slipping to Dean’s upper thighs, too weak to hold his hips any more. “Deeean...”

Dean laughed, shivering with pleasure. “Auhh... Ah— Ah-hah... _ah_...”

Dean bit his lower lip softly between his teeth, eyes halfway rolled back under his lids. He groaned again, dizzy from the sparkly, glitter-like feelings inside him, charging a current under his skin. Doing this felt so good that he almost forgot the pain of his bruises. Dean’s right hand strayed from Castiel’s leopard-heart and moved to his own erection, and he tugged on himself, moving in sweeping upward motions, pulling his foreskin up over the head of his dick, then thumbing at it roughly until he broke out in a fresh sweat all over.

“Mhmmmmmrhm,” Castiel groaned, head thumping back into his pillow.

Dean grunted hard, working Cas a little faster. He began bouncing again, slapping his ass down onto Castiel’s waist, each bounce giving an obscene clap of sound, echoing in the bedroom. Dean let go of his erection and touched a nipple instead, pinching and pulling. He looked down and watched the wrinkles of the tight nub squash under his fingers, and he shuddered, purposefully smearing pre-come from his fingers straight onto his nipple.

“Christ,” Castiel hissed, turning his head and thrusting half his face into the pillow under him. “OH, fuck, Dean, why— Shit. _Shit,_ I can’t—”

“Hey,” Dean said, wetting his lips. “Look at me?”

Castiel peeked open an eye, turning his head straight again.

Dean grinned. “C’mon. Look at me, man.”

“Why?” Castiel demanded to know, eyebrows up.

“‘Cause,” Dean said, soft-eyed, leaning down over Castiel’s chest, still nudging his hips in urgent humps. “I like lookin’ at _you_.”

Castiel snorted, but he smiled as he peered up at Dean. Dean moaned, eyes slipping closed in an involuntary spasm of bliss, but he looked at Cas again the second the feelings shimmered away. He felt himself become dark-eyed and massively aroused, head down, eyes set fully on Castiel’s. Dean breathed through his mouth, shifting on Castiel in a more insistent manner, trying to squeeze an orgasm out of one or both of them.

Renewed desire took hold of Dean, and he frowned, crying out in his hunger for more pleasure, and harder bumps of Castiel’s erection against his prostate. “Cas,” he moaned, too deep and too solid in his throat. “Gauhh... yes... yes...”

He leaned closer, now belly-to-belly with Castiel. In this position he was unable to bounce but he tried anyway, thrusting his erection against Castiel’s abdomen, in turn forcing Castiel’s dick just one inch in and out of Dean’s hole. Dean trembled, sweating all over, eyes so intently locked onto Castiel’s that his vision tunnelled out, and he couldn’t see anything else, and didn’t want to. Castiel gazed at him so beautifully, perhaps in awe of how they were making each other feel.

Dean made a helpless, happy sound when Castiel took him by the lower back, both hands running up and down, soothing or massaging or stimulating him – it didn’t matter which. Dean felt his erection trickling hot liquid onto Castiel’s skin, and though Dean didn’t look, he concentrated on it, enjoying that filthy, slippery sensation as their slight movements had him rock through his own warm puddle.

“Dean,” Castiel breathed, almost mute. “Dean... Dean...” He sounded confused, almost, his eyebrows sometimes frowning, sometimes folded out in pleading. “Dean, yes...”

Squirming atop Castiel, Dean panted desperately, cupping the nape of Castiel’s neck to anchor himself. He wanted to come all over Cas, claim him as his own. He was so close to having his wish...

“Oh,” Dean sighed, pushing his hips back one last time. He tensed all over, holding Castiel’s gaze with a determined smile as he came, spilling fluid in a drooling, seemingly endless spurt. Dean heard himself squeal, Cas’ name riding on the whisper that chased the sound out.

Then Dean huffed with his mouth wide open, head folding down against Castiel’s chest, every muscle contracting, then relaxing. He went blank, instead filled up with a warm, honey-like feeling. Summer morning, cuddles. The sleepy smell of his own come and Cas’ sweat.

Castiel grunted, flipping them both over in the bed without any ado whatsoever. Dean murmured, eyes half-open to watch Castiel fuck him quickly, simply – just wanting to finish. Castiel took Dean’s right thigh and lifted it, pressing it up against Dean’s shoulder. Dean grinned lazily, seeing his own body pressed out like a pretzel so effortlessly. He let Cas drive into him without interruption.

Dean was fascinated by Cas’ efficiency – the thoughtful way he looked at Dean, hips rolling and smooth as he thumped deep into his now-tacky hole. Castiel tilted his head, appreciating Dean’s languid pose, flopped back against bunched-up pillows.

“Hmm,” Castiel said, eyes shutting. He smiled, peeking through his eyelashes to peer at Dean.

Dean smiled back at him, pleased to be looked at.

Castiel gasped suddenly, eyes wide. Dean looked down, mouth in a little ‘o’ of interest as Castiel came inside him. Dean wished he could feel the fluid, but it was so hot down there, and he was so sore, and there weren’t enough nerve endings inside him to let him feel the splash fill the condom. Castiel shivered, and his breath shook over a lopsided smile.

Dean met his gaze, and they held on for a while, Castiel slowly rocking, Dean feeling his heartbeat gradually return to normal. He was still stuffed tight with tingly feelings, consumed by both physical and emotional contentment.

Castiel sank forward, putting a soft, thankful kiss on Dean’s lips. Dean barely kissed back before Castiel leaned away again, and they spent a few seconds lost in each other’s eyes.

Castiel smiled in a way Dean hadn’t seen him smile before. He seemed wholly fulfilled, like he was glad that it was Dean looking back and nobody else. Okay, Dean was probably putting words in Cas’ mouth – or thoughts in his head, rather – but Dean did think... hoped, maybe... that Cas was glad it was him.

Dean adored being looked at the way Cas looked at him now. It felt incredible. If Cas went on gazing at him like that for another half-minute, it could even become overwhelming.

“What?” Castiel asked, frowning playfully.

Dean gulped, smirking. He may as well say something, right? “I— I’m really glad it’s you,” he said. He surprised himself. He must’ve been projecting Cas’ hopes a moment ago. Turned out, they were really his own.

“Glad it’s me,” Castiel echoed. “Lying here, buried deep inside you?”

Dean laughed, eyes crinkling. He reached up and brushed his thumb against Cas’ left sideburn, stroking the bump at the front of his ear. “Uh-huh,” Dean replied in a huff, admiring Cas’ lips, then his nose, then his eyelashes. “And – y’know, glad it was you who got invited here. Not someone else I banged years ago.”

Castiel smiled humbly, lowering his head so his tousled hair tickled at Dean’s forehead. “I’m glad it was you who turned out to be Sam’s brother,” he said. He looked back up, gazing at Dean so softly that he melted part of Dean’s heart. “I would never have felt comfortable enough to share this... this part of me... with anyone else.” He gulped hard, getting emotional but trying to hide it. “I, ah... I have to be honest... If I didn’t connect with you so deeply, the year before last, I wouldn’t have done this with you this morning.”

“Huh?”

“My feelings for you only intensified,” Castiel explained. “The first time you pleasured me, I liked you, but it was just a... a test. For me. I wanted to know what sex was like.” He paused to catch his breath properly, and swallow. With a last huff, he continued, “I didn’t like it enough to want more. In hindsight, refusing a relationship _entirely_ was... selfish. At the time I thought I turned you away because I couldn’t treat you right, but it was because I didn’t want to treat you at all. Self-absorbed. That’s all.”

Dean watched Castiel carefully, interested in what he had to say.

“But this time,” Castiel sighed, “I’d had a year-and-a-half to think about you. To decide...”

“Decide?”

“That if I were ever to have sex again, I’d want it to be with you.” Castiel kissed Dean’s cheek, nosing him gently before lifting his head again. “I want to give you... some part of me. I don’t know what yet, exactly, but I want part of _me_ to be for _you_.” Exhaling, Castiel glanced down, then back up. “I trust you, Dean. I didn’t get that back then. Now I... I’m comfortable trusting you.”

Dean smiled. He blinked slowly, examining Castiel’s earnest expression in a dazed, sleepy way. Dean had never been told he was trusted, not so outright – not by anyone. Castiel was a real gift, Dean thought. He also thought perhaps he could try talking like Cas did, just for a bit. He could admit something soppy and ridiculous but completely, utterly honest, and Cas wouldn’t bat an eyelash.

“If it means anything,” Dean said, “I feel like I’d get obsessed with you, real easy.” He huffed out a shy laugh.

“Obsessed,” Castiel whispered, smiling at the word.

“Seriously, though,” Dean said. “I want to share a whole lot more than sex with you, Cas. We need to talk about more than just sex.”

“Yeah?” Castiel asked. “As in, a relationship? I think I could handle that.”

“Damn right you can,” Dean said firmly. “Let’s start with snuggles.”

Castiel laughed, headbutting Dean’s sternum. “How quaint.”

“Shuddup,” Dean muttered, wrapping both arms around Castiel’s head, smacking a kiss to his crown. “No shame in being a cuddlebug, dude.”

Castiel hummed, sneaking his arms under Dean’s neck, squeezing so their chests pressed tight.

· · · ♥ · · ·


	8. A Morning of Intimate Ways

“Toilet’s free,” Dean said, nudging Castiel’s ankle with a gentle foot. He kicked his dirty panties off his feet and stepped straight into the bathtub, screwing on a tap to start the shower up.

With a huge sigh of relief, Castiel stood before the empty toilet and just let go, eyes sliding shut.

Dean stood under the spray of the shower, cackling at Castiel.

“Shut up,” Castiel said.

“I didn’t say anything,” Dean snickered. He chuckled again, a quiet “Hee hee hee,” echoing from the corner of the bathroom.

“I’d be fascinated to know what you find so hilarious, Dean,” Castiel said, eyes still closed, eyebrows up.

“It’s just,” Dean started, “I didn’t think we’d get this comfortable with each other, this fast.”

“You wept in my arms after an hour of knowing me,” Castiel said matter-of-factly. “I’d say things progressed fairly quickly between us, wouldn’t you?” He wiped with one piece of tissue before flushing the toilet. He turned his eyes to Dean, seeing him peering back from behind an open shower curtain.

Dean bit his lip, cocking his head invitingly. “Water’s warm.”

Castiel sighed. “What are we, Dean?”

“Uh, human?”

Castiel shook his head, smiling as he climbed into the tub beside Dean, unapologetically shoving his way under the water flow, feeling the heat sluicing down his back and carrying away all his dried sweat. “I mean,” Castiel said, shaking water from his hair, gazing at Dean through wet eyelashes, “Are we... boyfriends? Girlfriend and boyfriend? Are we doing this again tomorrow? Is it casual? Is it serious? Are you going to see other people when we get back to New Hampshire? I have so many questions.”

Dean shrugged, lips pressed together in an arch. He combed his fingers back through his water-slick hair, then reached to do the same for Castiel. “Why even bother to define what we have? I thought you liked being an outlier.”

“Being purposefully different from everyone else in the world and always doing the unexpected isn’t always the best course for me,” Castiel said, looking down to wash his private areas, since he felt oddly sticky. “I want to know. Because I want very badly to see you again, and I want...”

He breathed, eyes drifting. He didn’t know what words to say next.

“You want security,” Dean finished. He smiled when Castiel nodded. Dean leaned in and kissed Castiel’s cheek under running water, and nuzzled him right after, smiling. “Maybe we can date or something.”

“I don’t want to date, I just want you to _be_ with me.”

“Okay, good, ‘cause I don’t wanna date either,” Dean said. “But for the record, if you want monogamy, Cas, I can do monogamy.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. “Monogam— Wait— If I hadn’t brought this up, would you have...”

“What, slept with other people while seeing you?” Dean shrugged. “Maybe, if I met someone I like. I mean, wouldn’t have kept it a secret from you – cheating’s a whole different kettle. But c’mon, man, it’s not like I’m monogamous by _default_.”

Castiel exhaled, reaching to hold Dean’s waist, hugging him gently for a while. “May I be honest?”

“Aren’t you always?”

Castiel hummed, kissing Dean’s neck. “That... makes me very uncomfortable.”

Dean patted Castiel on the back. “Yeah. Well. If it’s easier for you, I’m all yours now, I guess.” He lowered his eyes and muttered, “It’s not like anyone else would be as cool as you, anyway.”

Castiel leaned out of the hug, searching Dean’s eyes for a sincerity which he thankfully found right away.

Dean snorted. “Great,” he uttered. “I’m totally whipped.”

Castiel laughed quietly, touching Dean’s soft-bristled chin. “I appreciate that.”

Dean kissed Castiel slowly, mouth open, tongue lapping the seam of Castiel’s lips, just once. Dean smirked as he pulled away, leaving Castiel somewhat breathless. “I figure you’re worth it,” Dean said. “You’re screwing up my life bigtime – you know that, right?”

“You love it,” Castiel said, quirking an eyebrow.

Dean tilted his head. “I don’t _hate_ it, if that’s what you mean.”

Castiel reached past Dean and turned off the faucet, kissing him once more under the lukewarm warm drip that trickled from the shower head. “Let’s go back to bed,” he suggested. “We still have cuddling to do.”

· · · ♥ · · ·

Damp but quickly drying, Dean and Castiel flopped face first into the tangled bedsheets, Dean groaning in complaint at the ache in his lower back, Castiel groaning in delight at being able to stretch out and find Dean there to press against.

Dean hummed happily, twisting his legs between Castiel’s, kissing his nose. “I’m so awake right now. I couldn’t nap even if you paid me.”

“Let’s do awake things, then,” Castiel said.

“Can I count your tattoos?” Dean asked, setting both hands on Castiel’s waist.

“I have sixty-three,” Castiel said.

Dean huffed. “Spoilsport.”

“Oh, I thought you meant count them, as in... a treasure hunt.”

Dean’s eyes brightened. He surged forward and kissed Castiel hard, breathing out as he pulled away. “Leopard on your heart and shoulder,” Dean said, stroking the leopard from its snarling face on Castiel’s shoulder to the tip of its tail, curled around his nipple. “Has he got a name?”

“She,” Castiel corrected. “Florence.”

Dean grinned. “What about the bear?” He touched the black-ink roaring bear on Castiel’s forearm, thumb dragging the skin.

“I call it Spitfire.”

“Like the plane?”

“Like the plane.” Castiel then reached to touch the actual tattoo of a yellow biplane on his right breast, opposite the leopard. “This model is the Tiger Moth. When I was a kid, I used to tell my mom I was a World War Two fighter pilot in my past life. Trained in one of these.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Past life? You believe in reincarnation?”

“I don’t any more.” Castiel shrugged. “But when I was five I did. The memories from back then lingered. I have a birthmark underneath this tattoo here—” He touched the left of his ribcage, where a comic-book-style ‘ _POW!_ ’ exploded from his skin. “That’s where I was shot.”

Dean breathed out, grinning. “You are a real piece of work, you know that?”

“I try,” Castiel smirked.

Dean lost himself in a quiet thought, eyes following patterns across Castiel’s skin. He had an astronaut on the soft skin under his right arm, a rainbow galaxy winding around his bicep, folded between the two split halves of a green apple – which Castiel told Dean counted as two separate tattoos, as they were done by different artists at different times. There were then eighteen small icons in the crook of his arm, and Dean spent too long trying to figure out what they were, before Castiel informed him they were his favourite animals, of course headed by a housecat. Dean also saw a bumblebee and a honey badger, but he dared not ask about the bug-like squiggle beside the bat.

“What’s this one?” Dean asked, kissing the inner wrist of Castiel’s right arm. “Little X. Like a kiss, right?”

Castiel blinked slowly. “X marks the spot.”

“Spot for what?”

Castiel started to smile, but he looked sad.

“What?” Dean said again. “Am I missing something?”

Castiel licked his lips. “Um. Sam... Sam saved my life once.”

Dean’s eyes widened, and he leant up, hand sliding to hold Castiel’s, not realising he’d moved until their fingers locked together.

Castiel took a shaky breath. “Let’s just say, there’s a good reason I’m called Razor.”

Dean was immediately horrified. “What?! What the _hell_?! Why would he call you that if it’s about— Oh my _God_.”

“No, I... I chose the name myself,” Castiel said. He touched his fingers to the noose around his neck, and he swallowed. “I needed reminding. Every day. I needed to be told every day that I was mortal, that I wasn’t going to... come back.”

Dean frowned, baffled.

Castiel gulped again. “I was convinced that if I died by my own hand, I’d come back properly. Reincarnated. All in one piece. Not feeling like a girl sometimes, like a boy other days, and some days I didn’t think I was either. I’d come back as someone else, who didn’t feel like a failure or a confused mess of a person. Sam was the one to stop me. And he – he held me, a bit like you’re doing now, and he told me how much he didn’t want me to go.”

“And he reminded you that you’re mortal,” Dean finished, words shaped around a sigh of awe. “He never told me about that.”

“I asked him not to.” Castiel pressed a small smile between his lips. “He has an X tattoo on his chest, a twin for mine.” Castiel touched the _POW!_ tattoo again. “Right here. We got them done at the same time.”

Dean swallowed, loving his brother for being so supportive, and at the same time, wishing it had been him. But this was better, he told himself. If Dean had been in Sam’s place back whenever that happened, things might not have turned out the way they were now: Castiel in Dean’s arms, shiny-eyed and warm.

“Um,” Castiel said, gulping down a huge lump of emotions all at once. “Th-This one.” He touched a small, colourful handprint just below his clavicle. “I got this one the January before last.”

“Yeah?” Dean leaned close, examining the handprint. “What’s it for?”

“Passion,” Castiel said. “Not necessarily for you, but... for what we did in December.”

“Me?” Dean stared at Castiel. “You got a tattoo ‘cause of what you and me did?”

Castiel tilted his head, smiling. “I went thirty-seven years without ever experiencing what you had me experience. I felt it deserved a monument.”

Dean looked more carefully at the rainbow handprint. “It’s so small.”

Castiel laughed, shoving Dean’s head away. “You left an impression, Dean, but it wasn’t _that_ important. Small is big enough.”

Dean pouted, then laughed when Castiel pouted back.

“Pirate ship steered by a squid,” Dean said, poking the squid’s purple forehead. “And a peanut-butter-jelly sandwich.”

“For fun. And P-B-and-J is my favourite food.”

“Most people would call that tacky,” Dean said.

“Dean, I’m a walking cartoon,” Castiel said. “The sandwich is the sanest of most of these.”

“What’s on your back?” Dean asked, tapping Castiel’s shoulder eagerly. “I saw it in the shower but I wasn’t sure...”

Castiel rolled himself over, arms down by his side like Dean was the masseur and Castiel was a client.

Dean mapped out the smooth planes of Castiel’s shoulders, breathing out a soft, long sigh of appreciation. “Bird guy, huh?”

“One feather from every colourful bird I could think of,” Castiel said, referring to the pair of wings across his back. They were lopsided and decidedly graceless, as a peacock feather sat next to a magpie feather, next to a parrot feather, among two dozen others, and they didn’t match at all, but boy, did they make a piece of art.

“It’s gorgeous.” Dean kissed the bare skin between Castiel’s shoulder blades, closing his eyes and breathing out. Keeping his mouth there, he mumbled, “You need more tattoos. You’re all blank back here.”

“The feathers are all separate pieces,” Castiel said. “I’m thinking of adding bumblebees and a group of dragonflies on the back of my shoulder. And maybe the Road Runner.”

Dean smirked, putting a trail of kisses down Castiel’s back, pausing at the dip in his spine. “Why the Road Runner?”

“Perhaps on my legs. I’d put the Road Runner on the back of one calf, and Wile E. Coyote on the other calf. The bird represents God, and the coyote is man, endlessly chasing the divine but never able to catch him.”

“Cas, it’s a kids’ cartoon, it doesn’t represent shit.”

“Right, of course it doesn’t,” Castiel said, with pointed sarcasm.

Dean snickered. “You should do it,” he agreed. “Maybe get a little crossdressing Bugs Bunny while you’re at it.”

“How about _you_ get a crossdressing Bugs Bunny,” Castiel suggested, rolling over again. “I’m not the one who dresses up.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Castiel kissed him.

“Hmrh,” Dean said, before forgetting what he was going to say. He took a deep breath from Castiel’s mouth, and allowed himself to get lost in the slow, sloppy twisting of Castiel’s lips. He smiled, and cuddled up to Cas’ warmth, settling in for a long and satisfying make-out session.

· · · ♥ · · ·


	9. Breakfast

Hand-in-hand, Dean and Castiel crept downstairs, honing in on the smell of almost-burnt waffles. Dean told Cas all about The Waffle Incident of 2012, and Castiel pretended he wasn’t impressed, but Dean could tell he was trying hard not to laugh.

They reached the base of the staircase. With a grin on his face, Dean led Castiel into the library. They were greeted by smiles and cheery waves; Dean separated his hand from Castiel’s to wave back at Jo, who approached Dean holding a plate of waffles. Castiel went off on his own, so Dean hung back with Jo. She was fresh-faced, her blonde hair was darkened and damp from a shower, and she seemed chipper.

“Morning,” Dean smiled.

“It’s the afternoon,” Jo grinned. “Late night last night, huh.” She forked a chocolate-drenched waffle corner into her mouth. With one cheek bulging, she asked, “How’d you sleep?”

Dean smiled without thinking, eyes moving to look at Castiel. Castiel bent down to pick up Ivor, then proceeded to coo and fuss over his pet, smothering the cat in kisses, rubbing their noses together. “You know,” Dean said, “I don’t think I’ve slept that good in years.”

Jo’s eyes shifted to Castiel, and she smiled too, ever appreciative of people acting cute with cats. But her attention moved back to Dean, and she spoke with her mouth full, “Musht’ve been the paintball. Tuckered us all right out.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. My ass is still smarting after all the action it got.”

Ellen, who was just passing by on her way to the kitchen, happened to only hear that last part. “Jeez,” she uttered, shooting Dean a disturbed glance. “Keep some things to yourself, kid. We don’t all need to hear about it.”

Dean gawped.

“Hey, it’s cool,” Jo said to Dean quickly, still grinning at her mother’s misinterpretation. “We’re just happy you’ve found someone.” Perhaps as consolation, she offered Dean a bite of her waffle. Dean bit it off her fork without hesitation, savouring the gooey chocolate that squished out across his tongue. As Jo lowered her fork, her smile dimmed a bit. “You are planning on seeing him again after this, aren’t you?”

“Who, Cas?” Dean scoffed, already grinning. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Jo seemed satisfied. “Now go serve him up some waffles, or he’s gonna do it himself and get cat fur on everything. The rest of us could do with more, too.”

Smiling, Dean turned and did exactly as she suggested. Bobby’s waffle iron was so old it could be classed as an antique – much like the man himself – and therefore, only those with prior experience could interact with it safely. Dean prided himself on knowing precisely what he was doing. He set the hot iron onto the stove, poured in the perfect amount of mixture, and he stood by, watching like a hawk, waiting for his waffle to turn golden-brown.

Sam came up to him, trying to start a conversation, but Dean shushed him, holding up a finger. Sam sighed and floated away, knowing better than to interrupt a waffle in progress.

Dean tossed out waffle after waffle, piling them onto a plate. Every time he got two or three stacked up, someone came along and stole one, so he had to keep making more.

He settled into a kind of waffle-making trance. Butter, batter, bake, then platter. It was soothing. He could hear conversation carrying on behind him, and he heard Ivor meow for food, and he heard someone opening up a new bag of cat crunchies and tipping them into a bowl. He didn’t look; he just watched tiny bubbles rise up to form spongy, waffley perfection.

“I think everyone’s had plenty,” Castiel remarked kindly, coming up to Dean and placing his hand against his lower back. “Charlie had too many, so I ate one of hers.”

“You’re not hungry any more?” Dean looked up at Castiel with a pang of disappointment.

Castiel’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Dean, I may have devoted my life to promoting healthy living, but there’s no real point in existing if I can’t eat six waffles smothered in ice cream and chocolate sauce on occasion, is there? How many of these are yours?”

Dean grinned, glancing down at the eight waffles he’d piled on the plate. “How about we split the stack five-three, since you already ate one? And then you get this last one.” He nosed towards the waffle that was almost finished cooking. “Then we’re even.”

“That’s fine by me,” Castiel said, leaning in to kiss Dean’s cheek. “For your sake, I think I can sacrifice a waffle from my perfect six.”

Dean beamed, curling his bare toes against the polished wooden floor of the kitchen. “You can have one of mine,” he said quietly. “I don’t need so many.”

Castiel took a breath to argue, but Dean gave him a firm look, and Castiel backed down with a flattered smile. Dean’s heart was so enamoured at this point that he didn’t even feel the loss of his extra waffle.

Dean finished up the final waffle with Castiel watching, and he tipped it onto a new plate. When each of their plates were full, Dean drizzled his waffles in genuine Canadian maple syrup, while Castiel did exactly as he said he would: he slathered his stack with chocolate sauce and chocolate ice cream, then topped it with colourful sugar sprinkles.

Noticing Dean’s stare of both envy and disgust, Castiel smiled, and offered Dean the first taste of the chocolatey goodness, a gesture which immediately replaced Dean’s conflicted expression with pure enthusiasm.

The moment he had some waffle in his mouth, Dean moaned, eyelids fluttering. His teeth sank into perfectly-cooked, just crunchy, soft-on-the-inside sponge, and it was so good that his knees went weak. “When this gives me a heart attack,” he said out of the corner of his mouth, “don’t save me. Just let me die happy.”

Castiel hummed a laugh, finally getting to sample his own breakfast. It was just as delicious as Dean had expressed.

“Actually, I take that back,” Dean said, poking at his own syrup-soaked breakfast with the tines of his fork. He watched the syrup cling to the metal, but his eyes rose, and he smiled at Castiel serenely. “Do save me. I wanna live a long and healthy life. Call me cheesy, but there’s a ton of beautiful stuff in the world I wanna be here to enjoy, you know?”

Castiel slowly stopped chewing, staring at Dean. “Like waffles?” he asked, tilting his head.

Dean shrugged. “More like good company.”

Castiel began chewing again. Dean could see in his eyes that he was smiling.

As all the chairs in the kitchen were taken up by Kevin, his mother, Charlie and Rufus, who were all playing Dungeons and Dragons together, Dean and Castiel stood and lounged against the shuttered windows, sneaking food off each other’s plates, unable to decide which breakfast they liked better. They were both sickly sweet and utterly glorious. When Castiel added strawberries to his, Dean nodded. “That’s the winner, right there, Cas.”

Castiel speared a strawberry on his fork and offered it to Dean. Dean ate it, holding Castiel’s eyes as he slid his lips off the tines. Castiel smirked.

Chewing happily, Dean’s eyes moved away from Castiel, instead surveying the other folks in the open-plan room. He looked from Kevin and Charlie at the table, over to Ellen in the library, to Bobby beside her, and then to Sam, who leaned against Bobby’s desk, holding his empty plate and staring back at Dean.

“Uh-oh,” Dean said, trying not to move his mouth.

“What?” Castiel asked.

Dean swallowed, then wiped his chocolatey mouth on a paper napkin. “Got this weird feeling that I’m about to spill the beans to Sam.”

Castiel glanced up in surprise. “Beans?” He quickly realised what the phrase meant. “What are you going to tell him? About when you and I really met?”

Dean nodded. “Nail on the head.” His eyes were still locked on Sam’s across the room.

“Let me come with you,” Castiel requested.

Dean looked at Castiel carefully, then nodded. Castiel was part of this group now, so he deserved to weigh in when it came to important discussions. Besides, this particular discussion was all about him.

Dean carried his half-empty plate of waffles past the rowdy table where the game went on, then over the border between the kitchen and the library. Morning light warmed the library through the window, and Dean felt it scald his skin as he stepped into a golden beam. He went up to his brother and sighed. He didn’t even need to say anything, just cocked his head towards the front door, and led the way.

Behind Dean, Sam and Castiel followed. Dean heard Castiel offer Sam some waffles, but Sam politely declined, a noticeable smile in his voice. Dean was glad Sam was all smiles today. Even if Dean was about to ruin his mood, a starting smile boded well.

Dean opened the front door and wandered onto the porch balcony. Pink and purple petunias in the hanging pots twitched their leaves in the slight breeze, while a huge plume of white dust swept up from the driveway, twirling past before scattering back to the ground.

Dean leaned his elbows on the wooden barrier, cutting his fork into another waffle to sever another bite.

“So you two seem comfortable,” Sam said. “Sharing food. Being all affectionate in plain sight.”

“It’s just what I do,” Dean shrugged. “You and Jo and Charlie are no different.”

“True,” Sam agreed. He came up next to Dean and leaned on the barrier just to his right. He looked at Dean studiously. “But you’ve known me and Jo and Charlie for years. Me, all my life. You’ve only known Razor one day. Or Cas.” Sam turned to look at Castiel over his shoulder. “Whatever you’re going by these days.”

“I like ‘Cas’,” Castiel said. “My sisters call me by my full name, but I like that Dean shortened it.”

“Cas, then,” Sam smiled. His eyes returned to staring at the side of Dean’s face. “You brought me out here to talk, didn’t you?” Dean nodded once. “So what’s up?”

Dean gulped down a barely-chewed mouthful, and decided he’d better save his food for later. He turned and set the plate on the rusty cafe table behind him.

“Listen,” he said, rubbing his hands together slowly, glancing at Castiel, then settling his eyes on Sam. “Me and Cas have got something to tell you.”

Sam straightened, turning his back to the driveway, setting both hands on the barrier behind him. “What sort of something?”

Dean’s eyes darted to Castiel for reassurance. Castiel looked back at Dean calmly, giving him an urging nod.

Dean took a breath and looked Sam in the eye. “I lied to you before. About me and Cas.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Uh?”

Dean frowned, tipping his head forward, glancing down. “We, um... We didn’t meet yesterday. It was way before. I mean, yeah, we did bump into each other on the train, but—” Dean exhaled, looking at Castiel in sudden panic.

“I got this,” Castiel said, stepping forward to rescue Dean. He stepped up to Dean’s side, facing Sam. “Sam, do you remember at Christmas, the year before last, I told you I saw a certain client? A man...”

“Who, the guy with the crazy rainbow aura?” Sam smiled. His eyes snapped to Dean, then back to Castiel, and in a whisper, he asked, “The guy you had sex with? Your one-and-only?”

Dean flushed. “Yeah, that guy,” he muttered. He looked up and smiled tensely at his brother. “That would be me.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. “What?” He grinned for a second, but the grin immediately vanished. “Are you kidding— Wait, _what_?” He blinked a few times, and he looked between Dean and Castiel rapidly, as if checking they weren’t about to break character and laugh, giving away a joke. Sam quickly realised Dean’s blush was a real blush, and Castiel’s jaw was clenched in real shame.

Slowly, all the breath and the tension went out of Sam, and he stood straight, chin level. He looked discerningly at Dean, and asked, “Since when do _you_ get massages?”

“I don’t any more,” Dean said, holding Sam’s eye. “Last time I got one was from Cas. Since then, I quit my office job, and I move around more now – my spine doesn’t compress so much. And I do yoga and crap like that, so I don’t really need it.” He cleared his throat, looking away so he wouldn’t see Sam’s reaction to the word ‘yoga’.

“Um,” Castiel said, his voice lower than ever. “I hope this wasn’t a bad time to come clean. You seem uncomfortable.”

“Huh? No, no, it’s fine,” Sam said, shaking a hand dismissively. “I’m just... stunned. A bit.” He licked his lips, and Dean turned to watch him mull over this new information. Sam suddenly frowned at Castiel. “What made you come clean at all? And what made you lie in the first place?”

“Salad,” Dean said. He smiled awkwardly, shrugging a shoulder.

Castiel chuckled, understanding Dean’s reference. He grinned at Sam and explained, “The truth is harder to express when people truly care about what you’re saying. I believe Dean was worried you’d... overreact. For you to find out your brother was sexually intimate with your closest friend can’t be... uhm – pleasant. So he didn’t want to say anything.”

“Pff,” Dean said. “Not that. I wasn’t worried! Seriously, Sam’s about as rational and accepting as they come. I just didn’t wanna have _this_ freakin’ conversation that we’re having right now. Talking about this shit weirds me out.”

“Dean, I’m not even questioning why you didn’t say anything to me,” Sam said to Dean, before swivelling his eyes back to Castiel. “He’s allergic to feelings. It’s _you_ I’m curious about, Cas. I get that you were just sticking up for Dean, since he wasn’t out yet, but... why not be up-front with me from the start? You’re not a liar.”

Castiel breathed in. “Interesting.”

“What is?” Sam asked.

“It’s interesting that you see us that way,” Castiel said. “You think I’m honest, and you think Dean is bad at expressing emotion.”

“Aren’t you?”

Castiel shook his head. “We’re the opposite. Dean is one of the most emotionally-driven people I’ve ever met in my life. That’s a huge part of what I love about him.”

Dean’s eyes magnetised to Castiel’s face. _Love_. Other than a double-blink, Castiel didn’t react to his own use of the word. Dean smiled.

“But...” Sam seemed confused. “Since when do you lie? About _anything_?”

“He doesn’t _lie_ -lie,” Dean said, touching Castiel’s forearm, then sliding his hand down to hold Castiel’s. “It’s like when he wears tattoo-concealer at work. He just... withholds the truth sometimes. And don’t we all?” He smiled at Sam, thankful to see him roll a shoulder in acceptance.

“Uhhh,” Sam said, bowing his head to scratch at his scalp. “Man, this is weird.” He looked up. “Okay. So Cas is into you, and _only_ you; you’re bi and into Cas. You were together briefly years ago and rekindled the flame yesterday. Is that everything, or do I need to prepare for another truth bomb?”

Dean shook his head. “That’s all.”

Castiel squeezed his hand. Dean glanced at him, and they shared a sneaky smile. They still had secrets, but those special things would be kept between them. Nobody else ever had to know what mysteries they hid beneath their clothes, or what they did in bed.

“Guess I’d better take all those dating profiles down,” Sam muttered to Dean. “Since you’ve decided to date my best friend and all.”

“Hey, screw dating,” Dean said. “I don’t wanna date. Cas doesn’t wanna date. We’re just... together.”

“Permanently, though?” Sam asked. “I’m warning you now, if you guys break up...”

“We’ll do our best not to have it come to that,” Castiel said flatly, nearly rolling his eyes. More seriously, he added, “I think it’ll work out to both our satisfaction. Dean and I are well-matched. Emotionally, spiritually, and sensually.” Dean smirked, gratified by Castiel’s faith in their relationship. Then he smirked some more, because Sam actually seemed reassured.

“Are we done?” Dean asked, tugging on Castiel’s hand. “Because I’ve got waffles over there that are soaking up syrup.”

Sam chuckled, and he lifted his hands to pat Castiel and Dean on the shoulders. “Good talk. I’ll be inside.” He moved past, and Dean watched him open up the screen door. “Oh, and thanks, by the way,” Sam said, pausing in the doorway, smiling back at Dean. “Thanks for telling me.” Then Sam grinned at his friend. “Cas... Congratulations. I know I never really said it outright when we were at college – but Dean’s a pretty great guy. You’ll be, uh... well taken care of.”

Castiel chuckled. “Don’t worry, I remember a lot of what you said about him, how he cared for you. Obviously Dean’s relationship with you is very different to yours and mine, but...” Castiel turned to gaze at Dean softly. “whatever he gives me, I shall endeavour to offer him the same benefits.”

Sam nodded once.

“See ya, Sammy,” Dean called to his brother, smiling. “And thanks.” Sam waved. When Sam was gone, Dean sighed and beamed at Castiel. “That went better than I expected.”

“I didn’t expect to confess my love to you so soon, quite frankly,” Castiel said, going to lean on the barrier of the porch. He squinted out at the blinding white driveway, his tanned face basked in midday sun.

“You did mean what you said, didn’t you?” asked Dean.

“I think so, yes.”

Dean grinned, pressing his side against Castiel’s, still holding his hand. “Awesome.”

“No doubt I’ll mean it more as time goes on. Weeks. Maybe months.” Castiel shifted a shoulder, further narrowing his eyes against the light as he peered at Dean. The visible slit of his eyes shone a shocking blue. “For now, it’s... Hm. It’s a baby foal of a feeling. It’s standing on new and shaking legs.”

Dean snorted. “Mine’s kind of a yearling. Every time I even look at you... Jeez, it’s like my heart starts bucking around. Physical tingles, y’know? It’s fucking crazy.”

Castiel chuckled, pushing his shoulder against Dean’s. “Would you like me to make a joke about reining it in?”

Dean blurted out a laugh, folding forward. “Cas!” he gasped, shoving Castiel’s side. “Oh my God. You’re a fan of puns, huh?” He chuckled again, beaming at Castiel. “I live for crappy jokes. You ‘n me are gonna get along like a house on fire.”

“What a good thing you’re a firefighter, then,” Castiel said, deadpan.

Dean almost injured himself with the intensity of his snort. With a wobbly, helpless smile, he stood straight, pulling Castiel by the hand. He tugged him to the rusty cafe table, and he laughed again, nearly giggling. He had Castiel sit down at one cast-iron chair, and he took the other one, making it clank against the porch as he got comfortable.

“Let’s finish our breakfast out here,” Dean smiled, pushing what remained of his syrupy waffles closer to Castiel, sneaking some more of the chocolate ones for himself. “Then I’m gonna get Charlie to deal us both into the D-and-D game. You and me aren’t leaving this house and heading home until you’re on track to becoming as immersed in nerd stuff as the rest of us.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

Dean smiled, and he offered Castiel some pancake off his own fork. “Because, Cas, your family just got a whole lot bigger. And sooner or later, you’re gonna love what we love. I can promise you that.”

· · · ♥ · · ·


	10. Cats and Boxes, Forever

**DECEMBER 2015**

Cardboard boxes were stacked shoulder-high, taped down at the tops, their sides covered in bold Sharpie scribbles. Sam was on Sharpie duty, so the labels were all in his handwriting. Right now Sam was busy vacuuming the room which had served as Castiel’s bedroom, a mere ten hours previously.

Other than the pile of boxes in the centre of the living room, the apartment was empty. Castiel’s lilac walls gave off an easy glow, radiating the light from the wall lamps. 

Outside the frosty windows, on the dark road far below, vehicles beeped as they shuffled along in their evening commute. A car pulled up onto the sidewalk – a confident yellow beetle – and three women got out. They laughed about a comment Hannah had made, and their voices echoed indistinctly along the empty street. The oldest, Rachel, pulled a key out of her pocket as they approached the entrance to the apartment building.

As the women went inside the building, another car pulled up to the sidewalk, this one a black 1967 Chevy Impala. Dean climbed out of the driver’s seat, and Castiel emerged from the other side. They slammed their doors closed at the same moment. Together they followed the women into the building, and Dean thanked Rachel as she held the door open for them.

It was impossible for Sam to escape the sound of the group approaching the apartment: the elevator clanked in the walls, and the sound of vocal chatter grew louder and louder as they returned for the second time in an hour.

Sam opened the door before they could knock.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean smiled, strolling inside, handing Sam a greasy paper bag. “Got you a donut. Is this the last stack?” He nodded to indicate the boxes Sam had labelled.

“Yup. All the leftovers I could find. Bedcovers and towels, books from the bedroom, shampoo and stuff from the bathroom, and then kitchen utensils on the top. I ran out of tape so I haven’t sealed the top box. There’s knives in there, so be careful.” Sam glanced at his checklist, and nodded, turning his attention to the donut bag. “Other than that, it’s just Ivor left.”

“This place looks so empty,” Hannah said, a tone of sadness in her voice. Her words echoed; the walls were bare and there was nothing to absorb the sound. “I can’t believe you’re finally moving out after so long, Cas.”

“Things can’t stay the same forever,” Castiel said reassuringly, patting his sister’s shoulder. She turned to look at him, and he smiled. “It was about time I moved on. New surroundings will give me a new perspective on life, I think.”

“You make it sound like you’ve changed,” Hannah muttered, facing Castiel. “I don’t know what it is about our family and hiring professionals, but you’re just as bad as Rachel. Dean almost dislocated his elbow moving the couch. Why couldn’t you just hire a moving company and save us the trouble?”

“The operative word there is ‘almost’,” Dean grinned at Hannah. “I’m fine. No harm done. Come on, there’s nothing wrong with relying on us. It’s not like we don’t have all the necessary skills to move boxes.” He turned to rummage through the kitchen utensils, checking which of them would replace his own and which would be pawned off on Sam. “Besides, if you didn’t wanna help, Hannah, you didn’t have to volunteer.”

Hannah huffed, though Dean’s playful grin made her smile. “Whatever – I’m over it. Let’s just get these boxes into the car, then we can _finally_ get some dinner. I’m starving. Rachel, give me a hand with the heavy one.”

Sam donned a smug smile, glad the others were paying attention to the giant ‘HEAVY’ sign he’d written on the box of books.

Rachel waited for Dean to lift away the box of kitchen utensils, then she and Hannah went for the box of books, with the bathroom stuff balanced on top.

Rachel exhaled in a preparatory way. “All right. Hannah, you back out, I’ll guide. Charlie, could you get the door for us?”

Charlie blinked out of a yawn, then hurried to the door to open it for Castiel’s sisters. “I vote Taco Bell for dinner.”

“I could go for Wendy’s,” Hannah countered, sneaking out of the apartment door, side-stepping Charlie. “Maybe KFC. Oh, see you, Cas!” she called back in. “We’ll pick some food up on the way!”

“Bye,” Dean, Sam and Castiel called at once.

“I’ll be down in a minute, don’t leave without me,” Charlie waved, then she shut the door. “Okay, just this?” Charlie surveyed the leftover boxes, disregarding the one Dean was still rummaging through. “I can take the bedclothes. Dean, I take it you’re bringing that one?”

Dean looked up. “Hm?” He grinned. “Oh, yeah. I found an electric whisk and a working pizza roller. Look!” He held up the pizza roller, bright-eyed. “It has Tweety Bird for a handle!”

“I forgot I had that,” Castiel smiled, taking the roller from Dean to admire it. He lifted his tank top and held the roller against his midriff. “What do you think? Another tattoo?”

Dean laughed, prying the roller away from Castiel. “How about you heal up from the Road Runner before you start adding more birds, yeah?” He leaned to kiss Castiel on the nose, then moved away, shaking his head. “God, you’re such a freak.”

Castiel patted Dean’s ass. “You love it.”

Dean hummed, flipping the pizza roller in his hand before tossing it back into the box. “Our kitchen’s gonna be so full of stuff...”

“I expect us to make good use of it,” Castiel said, closing up the box and tugging a fresh roll of parcel tape out of the fanny pack slung over his left hip. “We can have pizza every week, just so Tweety Bird is fully appreciated.”

“I can jibe with that,” Dean smiled, holding down the box flaps so Castiel could tape them. Castiel cut each bit of tape with his teeth. Dean glanced back over his shoulder, calling to Sam, “Hey, Sammy! Are you done with the vacuuming?

Sam was already wheeling the vacuum back into the living room, all the cable wound loosely around his hand. “All clean. I’m gonna go pack this into your car. Turn the lights off when you leave.”

“Yep.” Dean’s eyes moved to Charlie, who was going around the edges of the room, double-checking all the plug sockets were switched off. “Charlie, you ready to go?”

“Mm-hm.” Charlie bent at the knees and picked up the box of bedclothes. She straightened, and she sighed as she took a look around. “I’m gonna miss having movie marathons here.”

“It’ll be better at the new place,” Dean assured her. “I got a real projector screen, remember.”

“Yeah, but there’s nothing like throwing popcorn at Cas’ old 90s set,” Charlie smiled. “I’m gonna miss the static.”

“Charlie!” Sam called from the hallway. “Come on, the elevator’s here.”

“See you soon,” Dean smiled. “Tell Rachel to drive safe.”

“Don’t be too long.” Charlie looked knowingly at Dean, then Castiel. She smiled, then she turned to leave. She left the front door open, and her shadow receded as she carried her box down the hallway.

Dean turned to Castiel. When a smile rose to his face, it felt sad. “You ready to go, Cas?”

Castiel’s eyes lingered on the blank walls of the living room, then the door to each of the rooms. This wasn’t a large place, nor was it excessively fancy, but it had been home for much of his adult life. As ready as he was to start fresh, it was still upsetting to leave something he loved behind.

Seeing the grief in Castiel’s eyes, Dean moved to touch his hand. “Hey.” When Castiel looked at him, Dean gave him a long, loving look. “How about this weekend, you and me paint the new living room lilac. Then you get that serene home sanctuary you were after.”

Castiel’s eyes wrinkled at the corners as he smiled. “I’d love that.”

“Good.” Dean beamed, closing his eyes when Castiel’s bristly jaw pressed to his cheek, giving him a kiss.

“Now let’s get Ivor and go before I start crying,” Castiel said, leaving Dean behind, crossing the empty living room. His tatty black combat boots kicked over back-brushed lines in the carpet, left behind by the wheels of Sam’s vacuum cleaner.

Dean followed Castiel to the room that used to be his study. They paused at the closed door, while Castiel curled his hand around the brass handle. He exhaled, listening.

When he heard nothing, he opened and door and entered. Dean went behind him.

“There he is,” Castiel smiled. Ivor was perched on the windowsill, watching cars pass by on distant roads; colourful fireflies, marching in the dark. Ivor hadn’t seen Castiel come in, and since he couldn’t hear, Castiel alerted the cat to their presence by blowing gently towards him. Ivor’s whiskers twitched, and he turned his head. He meowed a greeting, and Castiel chuckled, reaching to pet his fluffy cheeks.

“You get him, I’ll box up his food,” Dean said, already crouching to put the food bowl into a shoebox. He carried Ivor’s water bowl out of the study and into the bathroom, and he tipped what was left down the sink. He took one last look in Castiel’s mirror. It was perfectly clean, thanks to Sam, and Dean saw his reflection in blue, the whites of his eyes shining with a single dot of gold light from the living room.

Dean returned to the study and put the empty bowl in the box. He smiled widely, watching Castiel bobbing about with Ivor in his arms, making his skirt swish against his thighs. Castiel sang lowly to Ivor, and Ivor purred. Castiel treated his cat like his baby, and Dean loved that about him. By now, Dean even cared for the cat like he would for a child. Other people didn’t understand how a human-cat connection could be at all similar to a human-human connection, but Dean had been wilfully converted: without a doubt, he was a cat lover. Ivor was Dean’s baby as much as he was Castiel’s.

Castiel caught Dean’s eyes, and he chuckled at himself. “One last dance for the road,” he remarked. Then he bent down, and showed Ivor his wicker carrier basket. Ivor understood he was meant to go inside; he limped straight into the dome and curled up, peering up at Castiel.

Castiel gave Ivor’s chin a final tickle, then he closed up the caged front of the carrier. Castiel sighed, turning his head up to look at Dean. “This is it, then.”

“Yeah.” Dean pressed his lips together in a smile of encouragement. “It’ll be okay. It won’t be so scary once you get past the whole _ahh_ -I’m-living-with-my-boyfriend thing. By the time we’ve decorated for Christmas, things will feel perfect. Promise.”

Castiel laughed quietly, nodding down at Ivor. His smile slowly slid away.

“You need a minute?” Dean asked.

Castiel drew in a long breath, then shook his head. But he stood up, leaving Ivor on the floor.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing...” Castiel stepped closer to Dean, slipping his arms under Dean’s, wrapping both around his waist. He squeezed, and Dean squeezed back, resting his cheek on Castiel’s shoulder.

Castiel exhaled, relaxing into Dean’s embrace.

“Funny, isn’t it,” Dean muttered. “First time we hugged, it wasn’t too different from this. Now there’s history between us, which makes all the difference in the world. But it’s still the same kind of hug, y’know? You ‘n me, squishing each other for emotional support.”

“That’s probably why it works between us,” Castiel smiled, pulling himself halfway out of the hug. He gazed at Dean with a fondness a thousand times stronger than it had been when they met. “We felt familiar straight off the bat. Close. Open and honest.”

Dean nodded, kissing Castiel’s lips. It started as a peck, but as they lingered, Dean deepened the kiss. He sighed against Castiel, cupping the back of his head. Castiel chuckled, and his huffed breath screwed up the kiss. Dean grinned at him from an inch away, rubbing a thumb back and forth against his neck. “Here’s to starting close and getting closer.”

“Here’s to that, indeed,” Castiel agreed. He kissed Dean’s lips once more, then had to look away, because Ivor meowed. “All right, all right, Ivor, we’re going. Our new apartment awaits.”

“You go out first, I’ll lock up,” Dean said, picking up the shoebox of cat bowls. “Anything we’ve forgotten?”

“No, just that box and the kitchen stuff,” Castiel said. He took one last look at the calming green of his study, then left it behind, turning off the light. “Goodbye, home,” he announced to the living room. “It was a pleasure living here. I’ll always remember you.”

Dean felt a clench of sadness at Castiel’s words. Part of him felt bad for asking Cas to move in with him, but the rest of him – practically every fibre of his being – was sure this was the right thing to do, and this was the right time to do it. They’d slept in each other’s beds for eighteen months, and they’d shared everything from showers to washing machines to refrigerators, so it was a relatively easy step to only have one of each.

Castiel took one last, long breath, and let it go free. “Come on, then,” he said, taking Dean’s hand. “Let’s go home.”

Dean smiled, and for a moment he felt warm, all the way down to his toes. Castiel’s hand slid away, and he waited for Dean at the door, holding Ivor’s basket in one hand. Dean grabbed the box of kitchen utensils, and went to his side.

They stood inside the doorway, looking back at a place full of memories – good memories, mostly. Crappy TV and cuddles and naps, and lazy evening sex – occasionally enjoyed at the same time as the naps. For a few seconds, the silence of the room became a cacophony of remembered voices, their own or those of other people. With the good came the bad: stressful memories of paperwork, and arguments, and telephone calls to the vet. But best of all, they remembered shouts of excitement as they surrounded themselves with family and friends, playing Donkey Kong, or Monopoly, or Dungeons and Dragons, all while sharing a delicious home-cooked meal, or popcorn and take-out. Fun, food, and family. Good times.

And then the sounds faded, and the ghostly shapes of their own auras drifted back into the past.

Dean and Castiel met each other’s eyes, and they shared a final memory of this place: a smile. It was sad and happy at once. Time to move on.

Castiel turned towards the elevator, and Dean switched off the living room light with his elbow. He set down his boxes on the hallway floor, and pulled out the key to lock the apartment door.

Castiel paused in his steps, listening to the lock click. It would be the last time he heard that particular click.

Dean pocketed the key, picked up the boxes, and moved to walk beside Castiel. Onward they went, to their new life together.

**{ · · · THE END · · · }**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s that! I hope you enjoyed reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it! Let me know in the comments - and if you’re not feeling talkative, please leave me kudos! Both are hugely appreciated. They make me feel like little lovehearts are floating all around me. ♥
> 
> If you want to read more of my Dean/Cas fics, there’s plenty to be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/works/), and of course, you can subscribe [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/) to get an email when I post a new fic. I try and post something new every two weeks or so. (I’m also on tumblr, [here](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/).)
> 
> My heartfelt thanks to all the mods of the DCBB for making this challenge possible. This is my fourth year submitting something for the DCBB. I could attempt to articulate exactly how much writing has come to mean to me over the years, but you might be here for a while if I did. I’ll end by wishing everyone here a spectacular day, and an ever-improving remainder of 2015. Until next year! Love, Elmie.


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